Once More, With Feeling
by Californiagirl2
Summary: Chapter24 Epilogue A delayed finale! Luka and Abby's daughter turns one.
1. No Time Like the Present

"Once More, With Feeling"

This story can be read on its own or as a companion piece to Mrs.Eyre's wonderful story "Critical Path". Her story is told from Abby's POV and this is from Luka's. It follows her stories "Reconcilable Differences" and "Strings Attached" which are well worth reading if you haven't yet. Season 9 never happened, Carby did, but not like on the show. Luka never had his year of wild living or went to Africa. 

My thanks to Mrs. Eyre for sharing her wonderful story and characters with me , much of the Abby/Luka dialogue is hers, with me adding in what Luka is thinking, there are some additional scenes scattered throughout. Thanks also to my readers Kate and Katalyn, the first like my mother thought everything was wonderful and the latter made me try harder, a great combination.

I found Luka wonderful to write, although he swears much more then I do, likes to drive fast cars, and well, damn him, he's more beautiful. There is some adult language.

All the usual disclaimers apply, and I must also credit Ivica (Tata), Damir and Tatijana to Mrs. Eyre. Hope you enjoy it!

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"No Time Like the Present"

Abby. It's been a long strange ride. A disastrous year together, a fiery, hurtful break-up, then a reconnection, a rebuilding of sorts, that ended with her drinking . . . and Carter. But things can turn on a dime. They did one night when Abby showed up drunk at my apartment asking me to take her to bed. A rather inauspicious start, but a start it was. Oh, nothing happened that night, not between us. But something changed for Abby. She broke-up with Carter, went into rehab. Started doing things for herself, taking care of herself. When she came back from rehab, we struck up a friendship. We even managed to talk about our pasts, our relationship, to forgive and be forgiven one long night. It was clear whatever we felt was still there, even stronger then when we were together. Still neither one of us really knew what to do with it, where we should go next. Eventually I went to Croatia to think. I couldn't hurt Abby again, I had to know I had something worth giving her, that I was someone worth giving her. I made peace with my past, with my ghosts. By the time I got back, all I needed to know was that she wanted it too. 

The night after my return she invited me over for dinner and she invited me into her life. We fell into bed, and into each other's lives with an ease that surprised me. Everything that hadn't worked did. And for the first three months it all just flowed. Then I made my first big mistake. My family came for a visit, my father, my brother, Damir and his wife Tatijana. And I didn't tell Abby. I just brought her to the restaurant and there they were. A complete blind side. What an idiot. I don't know why I did that. Fear I guess. And really fear of making _her_ afraid. She's already so good at scaring herself. I thought she might call it quits right there, but she didn't. She ended up spending a day with my father, Ivica, which is more of a challenge then you might guess. She forgave me. I think she made a choice to take me, shit and all, and we went on, moved forward. After that, she was different, more confident, really just more there. She seemed to be finding herself in ways she never had before. There were times when she would get a wistful look on her face, seem far away. When I asked she always changed the subject, and I figured she'd tell me when she was ready. Which she did one night, but it wasn't what I was expecting not by a long shot.

Life is strange. We work and plan and think and worry about our future. But really it all changes in an instant. We sign the papers or we don't, we ask the question or not, we stay or we go. And then there's the other guy. Sometimes it's the nameless, faceless soldier a mile away pressing the button that changes your world in an instant, and sometimes it's the woman lying right next to you in the dark.

I hated staying at her place sometimes, the noise, the neighbors, alarms ringing. It was one of those nights. We lay in the dark and I began to complain saying we should have been at my place and how having two apartments was a waste. And then it just slipped out, the proposal. Of course I had thought about it for awhile, even before we got back together officially, I had thought about it. Sometimes I thought I would take her out to dinner, or cook something, the works, soft music, the ring, the bent knee, something Abby would never feel she deserved, but of course she did. After all we'd gone through, how we had almost never made it to this point, somehow fanfare didn't fit. Marrying Abby now was natural, like breathing, and so the proposal was more of a statement then a question. I can be an arrogant bastard, no?

"I mean we'll have to decide on one place when we're married."

Smooth huh?

I lay in the dark, listening her to her breathe, it seemed like a long pause, but I'm sure it was seconds rather then the minutes it felt like. My whole body was tense, and there was a knot growing in my gut, what if I had been wrong, what if she didn't feel what I was feeling, what if we were out of step again? 

Her answer was smooth too. "Somewhere with a garden."

The knot released and I felt a rush of happiness, like when you're a kid and you are going to get that new bike that you always wanted and never thought you would have.

Where she took it then, was where I had never thought we would go. I had thought that I had thrown out the how do you say it? Showstopper? See I can be arrogant, but also a fool.

"Well . . we'll need somewhere for the kids to play, won't we?" 

See how she did it, smoother then me. Like dropping a silent bomb, no noise just the impact right in your gut.

My mind shut down, but my body knew what to do, get out of there . . fast. Somehow I ended up at her table smoking down a cigarette, even though I don't smoke. Don't think the irony was lost on me, if I were a betting man, I would have thought the proposal would have seen us in the opposite roles. Her smoking, me sitting quietly watching, waiting.

I struggled to try to figure out why I didn't grab her and kiss her, hold her tight and tell her how happy she made me, but I didn't, I couldn't, I felt a lot of things but happy? No, not happy.

I reached for another cigarette and she pulled them away. She's talking now, and I'm struggling to still the voices in my head so I can hear what she's saying. I realize I'm a dolt for proposing and then running away like she has the plague for mentioning children, I try to apologize "I'm sorry" I stumble, ramble, doesn't really matter what I said.

She tells me to blame my father, she talks about taking risks if you want something badly. Here's the crux, ""If it's what who wants?" I hear myself ask. She reassures me its what she wants and then my body wants to move again, my mind can't keep up, I'm up and out of the house as fast as I can.

"I need to walk" I tell her, it's a lame excuse for walking out on her, but it's all I have, and she lets me go.

I get outside and the cold air smacks me in the face, its good, like a hard slap to bring me out of the fog I've been in.

Children? You think this is crazy, it's what I've wanted for years, even willing to take onanother man's children to fill the void. Now, I can have my own, what's your fucking problem Kovac? 

But see, I put that part of my life away. When I was in Croatia, before being with Abby again, thinking things through trying to decide if there was a way for us, I decided to be with Abby, I had to be willing to give up the idea of children. It wasn't easy. I sat on the beach where I played as a child and I took out every memory of Jasna and Marko that I had. I looked at every moment, from Danijela telling me she was pregnant, her eyes glowing; lying with her, her belly swollen her face alight, feeling them kick; the days they were born, the sheer terror of seeing Danijela in pain, the joy holding their tiny, wet bodies in my hands; the nights I would wake up and find the baby sleeping between us. All of it, do you see how I looked at it all? Their first words, steps, ice cream, every moment and then I looked at all the moments I had been cheated out of .. . .teaching them to swim, drive, their wedding days. When I had done that I asked myself if I could give it all up to be with Abby and never have a moment of regret or doubt or blame. I realized that I could, that as crazy as it seems Abby was enough for me if she wanted me too. Most people never have what I had had so young. Abby was more then enough from here on out. I was sure, I was at peace. I had decided.

Now she was showing me how wrong one man can be. How had I not seen it? Is it possible for someone you love so much to change under your nose in ways you can't begin to fathom? Was she doing it to please me? Just now she said not when I asked at the table, but would she blame me later, if the worst happened? No not the worst, the worst had happened to Jasna and Marko, if the child wasn't perfect that wouldn't be the worst, of course children aren't perfect, they are who they are and we love them no matter what. Would a bipolar child bring us any less joy then one who wasn't? There would be challenges, but there always were of course. No child comes with any guarantees. Danijela and I were too young to understand all this, but now I understand far too much about "worst case scenarios". I didn't think about that happening again, there's some shit in life you just can't even consider. 

Now I have a new question, a new choice not Abby or children, but no children or Abby's child. The answer to that question well it's easy. But no, I have to be rational, there can never be any regret or doubt or blame in this new scenario. I'll be logical weigh the pros and cons, make sure she understands all the risks. Now I'm laughing because of course there is no logic in bringing a child into this world. So I understand that like Abby I am willing to take the risk because whatever I told myself before I want it badly enough. I want to see Abby with her belly swollen with my child, feel it move, hold her hand with every contraction. I want to wake up at 2 a.m. to find our baby nuzzled between us, and I want it beyond anything rational. I feel warmth wash over me such as I haven't felt in what seems like a lifetime.

I walk home and my steps are quick and sure. When I reach the door, there is a second of hesitation, what will I find on the other side? Is Abby brooding and cold, dismayed that the man she just agreed to marry would walk away? Is she angry? What price will my fear bring me?

I find her in bed, she's pretending to be asleep, but I've watched her sleeping enough times to know when she's faking it. I run my finger along her eyelashes and hope for the best.

"Hey"

"Hey"

I apologize, lamely, but still,"I'm sorry I shouldn't have. . ."

"It's OK. I understand." So that's how it is, she is learning to forgive so easily, she can learn faster then I can adapt.

"Yes?" I ask, it might be ok for her, I'm not sure it's okay for me.

"It's all right. I should have talked to you properly, I just assumed . . I never expected to want . . but no, this is enough for me, us I mean, I probably shouldn't even – " 

So this is how it is, her hard won prize cast aside without hesitation all on one word from me. Do you see how lucky I am? To be so loved, twice in a lifetime. My eyes sting.

Then I realize it's my turn to be kind, to be the grown-up, to surprise her.

"How many?" I say as if no time had passed from when she first mentioned the garden and children and it feels natural like taking the next breath.


	2. Icarus Flying

Part II "Icarus Flying"

So its sort of heady, we look for houses, and find something we both love, with a small garden like she wanted. And she's on me day and night, it's like a teenage boy's dream. Which is fun for awhile. But I'm not a teenager, and frankly she's scaring the shit out of me. There's a desperate quality to her at times. I remind her that biologically speaking, ejaculating upwards of four times a day is not the best way to procreate. My complaints annoy her, and she's not pleased when I used the term "stud bull", but you know a guy's got feelings too. I don't want this to feel like a project, we're supposed to be making love after all. She backs off then, but it's almost like she wants to hurry up and conceive before either of us can change our minds, and that's not particularly comforting.

I feel a sadness begin to emanate from her every month when she's not pregnant. And it scares the crap out of me. Is she doing this _with_ me or f_or_ me? I thought I knew, but now sometimes I don't. There are moments she looks at me like she can't believe this is her life, the house, us, as if she doesn't deserve it, and then I get the feeling that she thinks somehow not getting pregnant would be some kind of justice. Divine retribution, but for what I'm not sure, her drinking, her abortion, a life half-lived, whatever. She's learned to forgive me, I wish she'd learn to forgive herself. Frankly I'm not worried that it's taking time, neither of us is a kid anymore, it hasn't been that long, and I tell her that. But I worry for her, if it doesn't happen. And I worry for us. She pulled out before, checked out, let it die, and I'm afraid she'll leave me again, you know, without moving out. It's not easy, the battle to be close to Abby. I don't want to lose it, not again, not now.

I try to keep her busy picking out colors for the house, furniture, whatever. I try to keep myself busy planning the garden. When I was little, we had a beautiful garden. My mother planted bright red and yellow flowers in planter boxes in the windows, and then more flowers, trees and vegetables outside. I loved to play there as a boy. When she died, my father didn't have the heart to keep it up. Damir and I tried, but we didn't make a very good job of it. It withered, like it had lost its soul, and it had. When we moved to the apartment in Zagreb, I was grateful. I didn't want to watch it die. I want a garden like my mother's, for the baby, for Abby and for myself. I get a book, because I don't know what translates from Croatia to Chicago and I make plans, and try not to worry. Its hard though, I feel like I'm watching her confidence slip, like she's coming off balance out of center. I want her to know that I don't need her to do this for me, but it's hard to find the words. She wants it so much, maybe too much, she's not really thinking clearly. Maybe I'm not either. I know I should talk to her, but I just keep hoping things will get better on their own. That the damn stick will turn pink. I don't want to drive her away, and I don't want to put more pressure on her, she does a pretty good job of that herself.

It's funny, I had put aside the whole idea of children and then I let it back in, and now it feels like life might screw me over one more time. I know I'll be okay if it doesn't happen, I mean, I was in the right place before. I wasn't kidding myself when I said Abby was enough for me. Sometimes she's more then enough, it's like having a roller coaster in your backyard, exciting yes, but it can make you queasy too. Still, I like that she keeps me off balance, somehow it works, We both have baggage, but in a lot of ways we balance each other out, like complementary emotional baggage. Wouldn't Tata like that?

But suddenly it feels like, er, when you go on vacation and you pack way too much stuff and you're in the airport desperate for a porter. I could use a porter right now, I'm afraid we both could. 

One of the toughest things about a second language is the little phrases everyone knows but you. One seems exceptionally apt right about now, "the elephant in the room". Funny, I think Abby told me what it meant. I had this image of a huge elephant taking a crap in someone's kitchen, and the people are just talking and cooking and eating like its not happening. Well our elephant wasn't in the kitchen, he was in our bedroom. I thought having Carter hanging around was annoying the first time, but at least I had Abby to myself in bed, the elephant is worse.

So we skirt the issue for awhile which is really what we do best. But then the inevitable happens . . . . .we fight.

We're making the bed in our new house for the first time, and naively I think that I've given the elephant the slip by moving so I'm feeling pretty good and I ask her if she wants to break the sheets in, and she says

"It's not — I mean next week, we should - " 

And right then I understand that the elephant has moved right along with us, and this thing has taken a life of its own, like her recovery, this is her new project, and I'm angry, because our baby should not be on her list of things to do to prove she's okay. So I pick a fight.

"We should what? Are we fucking to a schedule now?" It feels good to open the door to all I've been feeling, but kind of scary too, cause you never know what's lurking on the other side of those doors.

"Are we what?", and I know she's pissed, I've unleashed her tiger too, 

"You heard me"

"Look you know the best chances of — "

"I know all about making babies, Abby, but the rest of the time we're making love, aren't we? Or does that not matter any more?" There, part of its out. She says nothing and I sit down, sighing with fatigue that it's all so hard, I can't look at her, but I know its time to mention the elephant.

"Why are we doing this?"

"Fighting?"

"No" There it is does she see it?

"You mean —I-you mean-" No she doesn't want to do this, she's come a long way, but not that far, it's my job to finish it up.

"Starting a baby is what I mean."

And I feel her fury build she doesn't even like me in this moment, but that's part of love too, and I decide to just try and be with it whatever comes.

"Because it's what we both want." 

Is it Abby? Is it really?

"Why? What changed?" I can't hold my doubts at bay any longer.

"Everything! Everything changed. I'm sober, I'm . . I'm . . I like my life, Luka, I like myself, I think I'm worth sharing now, I'm —"

  
I cut her off, I'm more scared then I thought I would be.

"You're desperate! You're scaring me!" I'm terrified that somehow her addiction and her recovery is driving our lives and always will and that what we both want has taken back seat to Abby's desperation, her need to give me what I had, to be good enough for me, and to somehow prove something to herself.

"No"

"You are" There it's said its out there, whatever happens we haven't made our old mistake, for whatever that's worth.

"I know what you're thinking"

Crap 

"Sure you do"

"Yeah, sure I do, you asshole. Abby the addict, grab, grab, grab. Jesus Luka, my whole life is one long frigging balancing act, you know? Live in the moment, but learn to defer gratification. Learn from my past, but put it behind me, see things —"

"Abby" I try to stop her, she's right, and I've been wrong or at least blind, fear will do that to you.

"-from the outside and — "

"Abby, stop. I'm sorry."

She tells me that she's not desperate, but impatient, and why shouldn't she be, she's put her life on hold for years, waiting for it to be okay, and maybe now that it is, maybe it's too late to have what she wants or at least to have everything she wants.

I try to reassure her, but she asks me about Danijela. I can't believe it and I want to laugh, but I don't.

"How long?"

Who knows was it the first time or the fiftieth, Jasna was a honeymoon baby, but we were so desperate for each other, who knows when it happened.

I decide to err on the side of levity and brevity, and how do you say it? Get out of Dodge?

"Jesus, Abby about 10 minutes I guess — is that what you want to hear?" 

Frankly, overall, I admire the way Abby handles the fact that I loved so completely before her, selfishly I'm glad the tables aren't turned, it would be harder for me I think.

Again I try to reassure her, she looks like she might cry and I get up and go to her and hold her. I tell her again that it will happen for us.

"What if it doesn't?"  
I answer her the only way I can . . . with the truth.

"I don't care"

She pulls away from me and looks at me like I've just struck her a physical blow, I feel slightly sick.

"I mean I do care. I want this too, I do want it, But God, Abby, not if it means losing us." There I've said it, my truth. She's more important, no _we're_ more important, she's my choice and now she knows it.

We make love then, and for the first time in awhile, we're alone, the elephant has left the room.

As we lie wrapped in each other I finally ask.

"What did my father say to you?"  
"About having a baby?"

"Yes"

"Nothing I didn't already know. I don't know why, but hearing it again, it made me think, he made it seem , , , ,possible. He told me that some risks are worth taking, that there are never any guarantees, that all parents live in fear for their children . . . .and that you were made to be a father"

"He tends to exaggerate"

"He was right"

"There are other ways Abby"

"I know but, the risk, Luka, it's worth it to me now. I want to be a mother, I want to be the mother of _your_ baby."

"And you will be."

"I don't know"

"I do"

"You would never have asked would you?"

"No"

"Why?"

"Because I didn't need it to be happy, and because some things aren't fair to require from another person, Abby. Love can't come with that steep a price tag."

She nods and reaches for my hand and we lock fingers

"I know we'll be okay if it doesn't happen, and really this is enough, more then I ever thought I'd have, but I _want _this Luka. I want it for me. I want it for you. I want it for us" 

"I know. I want it too." 

I was making coffee that morning. She never has really appreciated my coffee, she comes into the kitchen wearing one of my t-shirts, her hair is disheveled and her eyes are still squinting in the light. It's one of those moments, where I'm struck by just how pretty she is. And she says to me

"God, Luka, that stuff stinks did you switch to something even stronger you'll rot out your stomach I swear"

At first I dismiss it as "Abby before 9", but then I realize that it's the same stuff I've been using for months and she's never complained before. I glance at her sideways, she's edging towards the calendar, trying to be nonchalant, but her nose is crinkling like she's just walked into a barnyard.

I turn around and look at her again, I say nothing, but march her to the bathroom and hand her the test. I don't need it, I already know, but she needs it, the little pink line I mean.

When she comes out of the bathroom, she's aiming for cool "Congratulations, you're going to be a father". 

It's her moment, so I follow her lead and shrug, "I told you so", and then I'm holding her and she's crying and I'm laughing, and its one of those moments in life that you hang onto for when things go the other way.

"I'm scared" she says

Of course she is.

"I should hope so. Me too"

I can't remember who says what next, but I bring up the wedding, I'm teasing her that it's the honorable thing, my duty, but really I want to feel that ring on my finger and see one on hers so badly I can taste it. I want everyone to know she, I mean they belong to someone. Belong? That's not politically correct is it? That's not modern. But frankly the older I get, the less I care about being correct. 

" . . just us" she says meaning the wedding, and I can't help thinking it's just the three of us now, which makes me want to savor every moment I still have her to myself, and so I take her upstairs and savor away.


	3. What's in a Name?

"What's in a Name?"

So I savor her most of that day. I'm not a teenager, but hey I've still got it. We get hungry and head down to the kitchen, I tell her I'll take care of dinner, I'm feeling paternal. I start to make one of my favorite dishes which she respectfully refers to as "lamb gruel" when I look down at my hand, and realize I'm an idiot. I had her ring this whole time, and I just didn't see it. Not the first time I've missed something I should have seen. It's an heirloom, a simple gold band, from an old Croatian woman, Rosa, that became like family to me. I've worn it on my little finger, since she died. I slide it off and walk over to Abby, I get close, and I pick up her hand and slide the ring on, she doesn't look at me, but watches the ring going on like she's never seen one before, When she looks at me she nods, and I feel better, well, half-way better.

We go to see Kerry about my getting time off during Abby's scheduled vacation. And she starts to give me shit. Two weeks that's all I'm asking for and you'd think I was asking for more then my due. I give her a short explanation, "It's a honeymoon". She'll see what she can do? She'd better.

A couple of weeks go by, and the day comes. I get up while she's sleeping and take a walk. What else would I do? It's crazy, to feel so happy, and so sad all at the same time. The sadness is unexpected, but should really be no surprise. The last time I did this, I was a kid. Had no clue what I was getting into, somehow that made it easier. Now, I know, I still want it, but I know. It feels like I'm closing a door. It's the end of one life, and the start of another. I haven't talked to Danijela in ages, somehow once I was with Abby it didn't seem right; I'd said my good-byes in Croatia. But this morning, she seems closer to me then she has in a long time. 

"I'm getting married today" I say.

And for the first time I hear it . . her voice

"I'm glad" slow and sweet and low, but it's not Danijela's voice, it's Abby's. 

I stop cold.

And then I know it's time to go home and wake my bride.

She's bought this dress, and doesn't want to wear it when the time comes, I shrug who cares what she wears. I tell her to wear a wet suit and snow shoes and she screws her face up at me in that way she has. Tata will appreciate the pictures, not traditional you know. Honestly, it doesn't matter what she wears. I can't take my eyes off her face, it's like someone flipped on the light switch. Her eyes are glowing, and her cheeks blushing, like she'd just walked a mile, or we just made love. And her smile, I don't think I've ever seen Abby smile this much, not even if I totaled it all up since the first time I saw her. She's radiant.

We get to the courthouse and meet Carter and Chen. I shake his hand and we look each other in the eyes, and I know he trusts me with her now. Not that I need him to, but still it's nice. Who'd have thought? We struck up an uneasy alliance when Abby went back to rehab. It's evolved into a friendship of sorts. Abby still gets him more then I do, but there's more to him then I thought, and he truly cares about Abby.

We say our vows and its faster then I would ever have imagined, I can't help it I cry a little and so does she. Now I have my ring too, although it was hard for her to get it there, her hands trembled, mine were steady. 

Carter and Chen take us out to lunch. It's nice, to be there with her, we're happy and it's easy. It feels like our day, not a production, but a celebration, I like it, and I like that she likes it too.

The weird part comes when we go to work. It's odd to be back in this world after being in world apart all morning.

Women are funny, she made me promise not to tell anyone about the baby yet, and she goes and blurts it out to Susan Lewis first thing. Susan, Abby and I are finishing up on a case when she notices my ring, and looks at me then Abby who nods. Susan looks rather surprised so I quip that I had to marry her or be deported. Abby says she married me because she's pregnant, and then with a grin and a glint in her eye, she refutes it claiming it was for my money and finally she whispers something in Susan's ear that leaves her mouth gaping. As for telling people about the baby, I don't care, she can hire a sky writer or a billboard, or she can wait till people begin to think she's getting fat, whatever she wants. Just wish she'd make up her mind, so I know the drill. But I have to say, I like seeing her having fun with it, her smile, so alive, it's nice, it makes me happy too.

Her name. She wants me to tell her whether to take my name, personnel papers or something. It doesn't matter to me, the important thing is that we're married. I know I was all sentimental about the rings, and I don't care about her name? But what did you think, I'm not a Neanderthal. I ask her if she wants me to be Luka Lockhart, that makes us laugh it sounds more like a cartoon character or worse a female impersonator. Danijela took my name, but we didn't even consider the options. I've already had two Mrs. Kovac's in my life. I don't need another Mrs. Kovac; I just need Abby. It's her choice I say, and then suggest Wyczniski if she doesn't want to keep Lockhart, and that's what she settles on.

Work gets busy, and I'm focused, grinding through another shift. Time gets away from me. I'm trying to finish up some sutures when Abby comes in dragging Gallant behind her. 

"Gallant will finish for you" she says brightly, Gallant doesn't look too excited. 

I glance up briefly, "That's okay I've got it" I say and go back to work, not getting it.

"Dr. Kovac, Gallant will finish for you" she says it again, no longer bright, more um menacing maybe. I look up again.

Gallant behind her holds up his left hand and points to his ring finger.

Damn me for a fool, it's our wedding night.

"Mrs. Davis, Dr. Gallant will just finish up these last stitches, you're in excellent hands".

I smile at Abby but she's shaking her head at me. I pat Gallant on the back, and he mutters "You're in trouble Dr. Kovac." I hope he's wrong.

I quickly get ready, she's long since put her things away.

I find her waiting outside for me. I take a breath and put on my best grin, I wink as I say

"Ready Ms Wyczinski?" I hold my z's and lay my accent on thick. What you didn't think I had any tricks up my sleeves? I've been married before, no?

It works.

She smiles and shakes her head. "You're such a jerk"

I shrug, when she's right she's right. I put my arms around her as we walk away, and she almost disappears in them, my wife, Abby.


	4. Make Room for Tata

Special thanks to Mrs. Eyre for helping me out with Ivica, he's a handful.

"Make Room for Tata"

So we're going on our honeymoon after all . . . Kerry caved. At the airport, I have to take off my shoes, and they rip apart my carry-on bag which Abby seems to find amusing.

"Seems they've got your number"

"Har, har, har". 

I buy her some trashy gossip magazines and gum for the plane ride while we wait. I'm watching her. She seems relaxed, but every now and then she bites her lip. I know she's a little nervous, and not about flying.

We're on the plane, on our way to our Honeymoon, on my way home. We doze off and on. Eat that terrible food. Watch a really bad movie. Fool around under those cheap blankets just a little bit; she teases me about joining the mile high club. 

"The what?"

She explains.

I shake my head laughing, "Abby if you think there's room for someone even as small as you with me in one of those lavatories, you are mistaken." 

She giggles.

I'm not worried about going home and finding ghosts there. I know they're gone. I'm more worried about Abby comparing herself to the specters in her own head. I've thought about telling her what happened on my walk that morning, but she's already worried about our kid being bipolar, I don't want to add schizophrenia to the list. No that's a cop out. It just doesn't seem right to talk to Abby about Danijela yet. I'm not sure if it's her or me.

As soon as we land, I'm free. No worries, I'm drinking it all in, the sounds, the smells, the voices of home. We rent a car and drive to Vodice on the coast. Abby falls into a deep sleep this time. I love driving in Croatia. Somehow it's freer, fewer traffic lights, fewer cars once you're out of the city, and no highway patrol to speak of. I roll down the window just enough so that the cool air ruffles my hair, but doesn't blow on her. I let one hand take control of the wheel while the other moves the clutch at just the right moment. My feet go up and down in an easy rhythm when I shift, clutch down, give it the gas, release the clutch, the engine purrs. Sex and cars, they're two of the best things in life.

When we arrive it's pitch black, not like in Chicago, here you can see the stars. I park the car facing the house so I can use the headlights to see the door. This turns out to be a good thing. Ivica told me he would leave me a key under a rock in front of the house, and it turns out that there are about 20 rocks in front of the house. I rub my eyes. I so did not need this. I find the key and open the house. In the bedroom I pull down the covers. I carry Abby in and tell her to stay asleep. She must be so tired. It's a long journey for a pregnant woman. I slip off her shoes with one hand while the other undoes her jeans pulling them down with the practiced skill that it is, of course she's usually awake.

I bring in our bags and get into the bed next to her, I think that I'll have trouble falling asleep, but I don't. I wake up before her and drive to the market for some food for later and a paper. Then the ocean calls me, I walk down and stare at the waves and the water looks so good I can't resist. I look around and the place is deserted. What the hell? I pull off my clothes and dive in. I feel like I've found the fountain of youth. I try to imagine skinny dipping in Chicago, but the idea is absurd and I dismiss it quickly. 

After my swim, I use my t-shirt and dry off and pull on my pants. Back in the house, I make myself some coffee that I bring down to the beach with my paper. She finds me like this soon after. She's er in a good mood and gets to down to business quickly. I find myself a little shy, I've never been given to public displays, not that anyone's around. I feel like a kid at my father's house, but I don't put up much of a fight. I told you she's like a roller coaster. I'm feeling anything but queasy right now. She works me up into such a frenzy that I take her with a little more force than I intend right there in the sand. After, as I hold her, I'm feeling a bit ashamed. Just when I'm going to open my mouth to apologize, she sits bolt upright, looks down at me and says,  
"Is there a place to get a good pizza around here?" I guess she's okay.

At the end of the week, we drive to Dubrovnik we're going to my brother Damir's house. I wanted to tell them our news in person. They don't know we're married and they don't know about the baby. She's biting her lip again. We stop for gas and when she gets out to go to the bathroom the attendant asks me if Abby's a tourist, he heard us talking, before I can answer he says,

"American tourists my favorite, easy on the eyes and easy between the sheets."

I shake my head and let him know Abby is no tourist she's my wife, and anything but easy. He misses my joke, but gets my point.

As we drive away, I sugarcoat when she asks what he said. She knows it. Being in step, it's getting to be a habit now, just like the missteps were last time. Suddenly, I'm overwhelmed by the sense that everything I want in the whole world is with me in this car, and the best part is I know she knows it too.

When we get to the house, everyone's on us in an instant. It's Abby that tells my father we're married. We didn't discuss it, but somehow that feels right. I'm too busy anyway. Josip, my nephew, is complaining that he can't find the tooth he lost earlier in the day, he put it in his pocket for safe keeping, and now it's gone. I help in the search by picking him up by his ankles and giving him a few good shakes. My sister-in-law, Tatijana wraps me in her arms, and asks all the details that women always want to know. I catch Abby's eye, it's her prize, I want her to tell them. She tries, but American expressions aren't known worldwide whatever Americans want to believe. 'Shotgun wedding' falls flat, so she just says it.

Here's one they could probably figure out "so quiet you could hear a pin drop." Eventually Damir speaks to me in Croatian, as if he needs confirmation in our own language, I give it to him "Da".

Then Damir engulfs Abby and sends her out to Tata who left before the news. I nod my head, that's her place too. The rest of my family descends on me. I let myself sink into their warmth.

We go out to dinner that night. It's nice to have all my family in one place. My family. Its felt so small for such a long time, tonight it feels well, huge. We sit outside in a café. Damir, more the gentleman then me, gives Abby his coat, before I think of offering mine, and he lets me know it. Older brothers never change. Abby gives as good as she gets from my clan, and its nice to see them all so comfortable together. Damir, not so much the gentleman after a few more drinks, cuts Abby off when she's trying to make a point. I look at her and shrug "In laws". I mean it as a joke, but it reminds me that I have my own in laws too, which is not so funny, but that's for another day.

The next morning, I get up and go downstairs. Tatijana asks after Abby and offers me breakfast. I tell her I'll wait for Abby, but I take a cup of coffee and go out to their garden. Tata finds me there.

"Let's walk" he says, and I know I'm in trouble, it's never good when a Kovac man wants to walk.

I follow his lead.

He doesn't waste much time.  
"So are you happy, does she treat you well?"

"Of course, don't I look happy?"

He grunts, "Does she cook for you, do your laundry, take care of your house?"

"She's my wife not my maid." I bristle for Abby.

"Good, a man your age should be able to take care of himself. Besides she's your wife, not your mother, she should have better things to do. Your Mama now, she was useless in the kitchen, but in the bedroom . . .."

I stop walking, that is just way too much information "Tata don't . . .."

  
He interupts me and keeps walking so I have to take longer strides to keep up.

"Don't be such a prude Luka, how do you think you got here? So you're staying in Chicago?"

"We bought a house."

"Luka, whenever people who are married, discuss their lives with others they always say "we decided". This, is a bunch of horse shit. Two people don't decide anything. One person makes a choice and then the other can agree or disagree, but this, this crap about both deciding, well, let me tell you soon enough it becomes clear that sometimes you decide, sometimes she decides but you never both really decide. Do you understand?"

Well not entirely, I'm not sure if I agree but I'm beginning to get hungry. I don't really want to spend the morning debating this. "I think I know what you mean."

He stops walking abruptly. "Who decided?"

I stop and turn around "What, to stay in Chicago?"

He waves his hand to dismiss me, "No, that's no decision, that's inertia, who decided about the baby?"

I'm surprised. I know that whatever he said to Abby last night she was pleased. I know he's happy about the baby, he nearly broke all my ribs when they came in the house. I look at him more closely. He hasn't slept well. Apparently something about this is stuck in his craw. I take pity on him. I'm a father too after all. I'm not sure which answer is the one he wants, and I'm not sure what to say. I made a decision in Croatia, Abby made one in Chicago, and her's was better? Besides this is between me and Abby, no room for Ivica here. Then, it comes to me, what to say.

I look at him hard in the eyes, "Apparently, you."

I can't remember ever seeing Ivica speachless, but he is, he looks flustered and confused. I can maintain my composure for only a few more seconds, and then a big grin spreads over my face.

It takes him a few seconds to work through his confusion. Then he roars, and I'm laughing too.

He slaps me on the back, a little too hard, and grabs my head between his hands to pull me in for a kiss. "You haven't made me laugh in years." He ruffles my hair, there are tears in his eyes, and I feel mine burn too.

"See, I told you she would be good for you, this Abby, my Abby."

I nod my head "Yes, Tata"

And I feel the pride swell in my chest. I'm proud of Tata's Abby. And I'm proud of myself too. 


	5. The Return Trip

"The Return Trip" 

From Dubrovik we go to Zagreb. On the way I tell her about the time my friends and I hit a goat during a medical school road trip and tried to resuscitate it. She laughs but she looks at me like I'm crazy, or maybe just not quite whom she thought she married.

We arrive at my father's apartment. Tata managed to get his place presentable which is more of a miracle then she knows. Still it's strange to be there with Abby. Especially weird is that we'll be sleeping in my father's bed which I tell her. I tell her that cramped and anxious trysts in my small bed are what I remember. Then it happens. It just comes out. I don't even think about it. I'm just talking, and I find I'm talking about Danijela. Not just anything about her, but about us in bed fooling around before we were married. How she always knew where to draw the line. I'm down the road before I know I've started. When I realize what I've done, I get nervous. I'm not really sure where to take it. I'm trying to gauge it by her. She doesn't break our gaze, although I do. I know she's doing this for me. And then I know its time to tell her.

"She's gone," still she doesn't get it so I spell it out.

"No, I mean-gone. I can't feel her here," I can see the tears in her eyes, but mine are dry.

"No ghosts, Abby, no ghosts."

We look at each other for a long moment.

I dry her tears with my thumbs. She wraps her arms around me and presses her face into my chest. My arms go around her and we hang on tight for a long time. I don't remember how long we stood there locked together. But I do remember that on that particular occasion, we didn't make it to Tata's bed, and cramped and anxious had nothing to do with it.

Last time I was here I spent a lot of time thinking about what happened and how to go on. I made a lot of progress. It was that progress that made being with Abby again possible. When I first came to Chicago, I thought if I could just keep the cold water turned off, keep the thoughts out of my head, that I would be okay. But I couldn't keep up the flow of hot water, the pipes burst so to speak with the mugging. When that happened there was a deluge of despair, and it took me a long time to get out from under. I had something horrific happen in my life, and that will always be a part of me. But it doesn't have to define me. I don't have to make it the center of my life. I can't pretend that they weren't part of my life. I don't want to pretend with Abby. And somehow, now I feel I won't have to ; Dani and Abby have made their peace too.

I show Abby around Zagreb, the places that are important to me, the ocean, tell her stories, fill in the gaps. I hope someday, she'll do the same for me.

When the time comes to leave it feels okay, I know the next time we come, we'll bring the baby. It will be good for Ivica, it will be good for all of us. Besides, I don't want our child to think only half of their family is crazy.

When we get home, I can see how exhausted and out of sorts she is. She tells me she's fine, but I know better. So I run her a bath and bring her tea in bed. Last time we were together, in the beginning at least, I didn't pay enough attention. I heard her words, well most of them, but I didn't listen for the tone of her voice, the look in her eye, catch her gestures. I didn't try to understand her. When someone has a childhood like hers, trust isn't instinctual you have to earn it. I didn't. If she couldn't trust me with the little stuff like taking a break at work when she needed to talk, sitting with her after she'd been hurt, telling her I'd miss being with her when she went out with Carter, things like that. How could she trust me with the big stuff like her addiction, her mother, her future? By the time I was paying attention it was too late, she didn't trust me. Didn't trust my motives anyway. But I'm here now, and so is she and in the end that's all there is.


	6. No Place Like Home

"No Place Like Home"

She falls asleep almost immediately. I'm tired, but sleep isn't what I want. I felt okay about leaving home. Actually it felt good to finally have something worth coming back to, it's been too long since that was the case. But now, being back in Chicago, I feel like Adam . . . . shut out of paradise. 

I start to unpack and throw things in the washing machine. It reminds me of the last conversation I had with Damir before we left them.

He cornered me while Tatijana was busy foisting flowered maternity dresses on Abby who tried to look enthusiastic, but I know we've got a Goodwill trip lined up when we get home.

"So are you really ready?" 

  
"The bags are all packed."

"That's not what I meant." 

  
"I know." He's worried this is moving too fast.

"This might not be easy." Damir is frowning.

  
"I know." Considering all we've been through to get this far, I can't imagine anything pulling us apart now. But I do wonder what it will be like for me to be a father again, for Abby to be a mother.

"Luka .. . "

  
"Damir, it's not going to be easy, but its better then the alternative."

" The alternative?"

"You know, hiding, settling, whatever you can think of, nothing good."

He's nodding but he asks "You're sure?"

"Absolutely."

He punches me in the arm and grins.

"Da?"

I return the favor.

"Da"

So there it is, my family's questions answered, my own, well are our own questions really ever answered?

I drive to the market to pick up the usual, milk, eggs, butter, I don't know what else. Somehow I feel older being back in Chicago. The weight I feel makes me think of our last day at work. She'd decided to tell Carter about the baby.

I'm looking at a chest film in the hall when he comes up to me.

"She's pregnant"

"Who? Curtain 2?"

"No, Abby"

"Yeah, I heard that too." He's got that look on his face like someone just rammed a stick up his ass, and I know what it means.

  
I start walking and he follows.

"It hasn't been that long since the relapse."

  
"Long enough, Carter." My tone is terse. I thought we were past this kind of crap I really did.

He lowers his voice and pulls me into an empty room "She's an alcoholic"

"That's not all she is".

"Jesus, Luka I know that, but this is more complicated then that and you know it"

"That's the point, I know that." I'm starting to lose my temper, but think better of it and take a deep breath.

"I don't want to give you the impression I'm going to make a habit of this, because if you think I'm going to justify my life with Abby to you then you are mistaken. But I know that you're concerned for her, so I'll tell you that neither one of us is going into this blind."

"What if, what if . . .something goes wrong?"

"So, what is she supposed to do Carter, give up on everything she wants in life because it might not work out, is that what you want for her? Because it's not what I want for her."

  
"No of course not, its just well, I don't want to see her . . . .hurt"

I know what he's afraid will happen, problems with the baby now . . . .or later and the chance of another relapse. 

"Look, it's her life, her choice. We have choices too, we can be scared for her or happy for her, I know which one I've chosen. You do what you want." And I turn on my heel and leave the room.

I don't know what he said to her after that, but I do know he gave her a helluva lot of emesis basins and he sent me a box of Havanas with " Reserved for JT Carter" carefully printed over the biggest one. I can guess what he chose in the end.

When I wake up, she's not there. It feels strange. It seems like a long time since I've woken up alone. I'm surprised by how late I've slept, and I'm surprised that I miss her already. I find her sitting in the garden watching the laundry move in the breeze. Abby's watching the laundry, what the hell?

I bend down to kiss the top of her head and surprise her, and then I sit down to watch the show with her. She tells me laundry on the line takes her back to her grandmother. It's nice to hear.

I know that she planned to call her mother when we got home so I ask "Maggie?"

She's coming for a visit. I'm glad that Abby's making room for her mother in our lives. Although, I have to struggle to quell the little knot of fear in my belly, not fear for myself, fear for Abby. She's been hurt before. I don't want to see her disappointed again.

But like I told Carter, there's really only two choices, and I already know mine. So I put my arm around her, watch the laundry moving in the breeze and "Let it wait." 


	7. A Womb with a View

Warning: Contains adult language, sexual innuendo, and . . . . .even worse Maggie.

"A Womb with a View"

It's morning, coffee, paper, bed. I know mornings like this are numbered. Abby's still asleep. I can risk the coffee. The smells don't bother her anymore. She's curled up, her back to me. Every now and then she makes little noises. I wonder what she's dreaming. I'm almost through with the Sports page when she starts stirring, rubs her eyes, looks at the clock then at me, then at the clock.

"We're going to be late."

"We're not on today." I remind her.

"We have my prenatal appointment and ultrasound today. Don't you want to meet Junior?"

"Junior and I are already well acquainted." I roll onto my side and rub my hand over her belly.

"Don't start that, or we'll really be late."

She's up and out of bed, heading for the bathroom.

I get up and pull on my jeans, "Why are we having the ultrasound?"

Her mouth's half full of toothpaste. "Everyone has an ultrasound."

"Everyone in _America_ has an ultrasound."

She spits, and skips that comment. "It will be reassuring."

"Okay, but I still don't want to know the sex."

"But then we could pick out half the names, we'd get the right color clothes and we could paint the nursery . . . "

"Surprises are good, not enough surprises in life."

She looks at me skeptically.

"Not enough _good_ surprises anyway. Besides it will give us something to talk about."

I'm whacked soundly on the backside for that comment.

"Luka, it just seems like there are so many uncertainties, I don't know . . . ."

She's serious now.

  
I shrug, "Certainty is over-rated."

"You think?"

"Yeah"

I sit down to pull on my shoes. She comes and stands in front of me. She rakes her hands through my hair. I run my hands up her back. I'm always amazed how small she feels under my hands.

"Well, I have to admit the last couple of surprises I've had in life have been pretty good." She's smiling down at me.

"So we wait?" I question.

"We could be surprised today."

"Not the same"

"Really?"

"Really"

"Alright, we'll wait and be surprised on his birthday."

"His. . . . or hers"

"Exactly"

It's funny being on the patient end of things. I've seen these scans many times, done them myself. Today it's my baby, and it looks, well it looks like a small suitcase or something like that. But no, now I see it the heart, the spine, kidneys, it all looks good. Everything is in the right place. She was right; it's reassuring. When the tech is done she turns her back. I sneak in a kiss on her belly and whisper "safe journey, little one" in Croatian.

In that moment, I realize, this isn't about her owing me something, or life owing me or even me owing myself. This is about a man and a woman falling in love and making a baby. That's it, it's that simple, and that complicated.

Today is worth celebrating. I'm taking my girl out tonight, dinner, dancing the tango, whatever she wants. I'm in the shower singing loudly, badly and in Croatian.

She opens the shower door. "Good it's only you, I thought there was a cat dying in here." Damn she's saucy.

She's stark naked, I let my eyes take her in I love the changes, subtle but there, her breasts, the gentle swell of her belly . .. beautiful.

"I need some help."

"You certainly do, I'll call a voice coach stat." She's taking me in too.

"Well, you can if you like, but I'd prefer you, there's a spot I can't reach."

"Try the loofah on a stick."

"Real men don't use loofahs."

She sighs and rolls her eyes feigning exasperation "If I must."

She steps in and slides her hands up into my hair pulling me towards her. We kiss like we're 16, long and slow and deep. She starts to take matters into her own hands. I push her away gently and get down on my knees.

"Hey what about your spot?"

  
I grin up at her "I never said it was my spot."

See I told her surprises are good.

*************************************************************

It's time to face the music, the Croatian music that is. My little old ladies from the Croatian center where I volunteer demand an audience. They weren't pleased Abby and I got married quietly. Let's face it they weren't pleased that I married Abby instead of one of their granddaughters. Still they're happy to see me, happy to see us. Abby gets roped into a Bingo game. I make the rounds. 

After a time one of them tells me to look at Abby. She's holding a baby, staring down at it with such a bittersweet expression on her face. I look away. I have a strange feeling. I turn back, look at the baby. Marko, he looks like Marko. No, not quite, Marko was darker. The memory floodgates open for a minute. I see Marko, a tiny baby wrapped in a blanket in Dani's arms. Marko laughing as I hold him high over my head. Marko just learning to walk, looking up at me, ice cream all over his face. . . . Marko lying lifeless in his crib, I shudder. 

I turn away and lean forward to make my excuses. Really I lean in so no one will see the look in my eyes. When I'm composed I walk over to Abby. My voice is calm, my expression nonchalant. Years of practice, it makes you good no? It was nothing really, just a moment, moments happen. Everything's good, no worries. Her hand feels warm in mine. Mine just feels cold.

*************************************************************

Tonight another gauntlet, Maggie's coming to visit. She didn't want us to pick her up at the bus station, so we don't. She's coming by cab. I want to make conversation. I want to make this okay for Abby, but nothing comes. I'm too nervous for her. I know she knows it, and she's worried for me. I'm slicing bread when she knocks; the knife falls. " Shit".

We answer the door together. I'll take that as a good sign.

Things seem to be going well. It's obvious that Maggie is on her meds, managing her illness. Abby takes her on a tour of the house, dinner's uneventful, everything's okay. I take a breath and start to relax. Then Abby excuses herself. I'm on my own. Well its only fair, Abby had to handle Ivica.

"Luka, I'm so happy for you and Abby, I think its just wonderful about the baby."

"Thank you so do we."

"Yes, of course I know how much this means to Abby, but I'm sure it means a great deal to you too."

"Of course"

"I mean, well Abby told me about your loss, I'm so sorry"

Crap.

"Thank you. How was . . . ." I try to change the subject.

"I mean to lose your wife must have been horrible, but the children. Well I'm a mother, and I don't think I would have survived losing Abby and Eric. I know how hard it must have been for you."

You have no fucking idea.

"Yes, it was difficult. And what . . . "

She cuts me off again. 

I feel myself back in that room, Marko's bloodied and broken and I'm breathing for Jasna, my lungs ache.

"But still these things seem to work out in the end . . . . ."

Things work out? My family dying is "things working out"?

" and here you are with Abby and the new baby."

Yes, the new baby because my other babies are gone.

I can't do this. Not with Maggie of all people. I blink hard.

"Maggie, I'm sorry but I don't think I can discuss this. How is Eric?"

She's apologetic. I smile wanly, wave my hand. "Don't worry it's nothing. Where is Eric stationed now?"

  
There thank God, she's telling me about Abby's brother. I can nod my head and fix an appropriate expression on my face. I can do this. I've done this a thousand times. Abby comes back. They start to talk about names, I fade out.

I knew I'd have to take it out and look at it again sooner or later. Things like this don't stay in the background all the time. The bad moments come and go. There's nothing linear about healing. I had just hoped to wait and do it after the baby was born. My new baby. Born. Now I'm in the delivery room. I'm holding Jasna her body slippery and warm. She's so beautiful, my baby girl. Then I'm with Marko. He came so fast that I delivered him in our kitchen. I feel his hair smooth as silk under my fingertips. Then in an instant all of him is in my hands and he's looking up at me with the biggest eyes . . . . .

Back to the conversation. It's an old trick, being two places at once. Insert comment, about the baby, my baby, my new baby.

Oh God, she wants to know if I'll be in the delivery room. I can't make the words come. How do I tell her I just was in the delivery room, two of them. Then I'm there with Abby. She's looking at me with eyes round as saucers, she hurts and I'm the one to help. "Luka" she moans. She's counting on me, and there's not a damn thing I can do. Shit.

Suddenly I don't know if I can be in there. They want an answer. Abby looks at me expectantly. I'm a fucking coward. I feel sick. I stumble. I prevaricate. I leave, coffee go make coffee. I automatically go through the motions. I didn't expect this, I mean I knew there would be feelings. But this is like being hit by a 20 foot wave. It has me spinning, the guilt, the loss, the sadness, the frustration, the fear. And worst I feel like I've let them all down, Jasna, Marko, Danijela, Abby, our baby I want to start opening cabinets and breaking things, but I subdue the feeling. I lean my hands on the counter and squeeze till my knuckles go white. I lower my head. My head throbs, my lungs ache. I shiver. I'm cold.


	8. Same As It Ever Was

"Same as it Ever Was"

She wants to talk. I've got no words. I tell her no. For the first time, I lie with my back to her. I don't touch her, not at all. I've never done that before, but I can't. Touching her will make it real, and I don't want it to be real. I want it to go away, all of it. I want to sleep. I want to forget. But I don't. I can't.

I lie awake. 1:00 a.m. lit in red on the clock. I look over at Abby's back, and I wonder what I've done, how did I let this happen? My parents, it's always the parents fault right? My mother and father loved with such passion. I was raised on it. The way she sparkled when he came home, the way his eyes glowed when she played the piano. Coming home from playing in the afternoon it wasn't unusual to find them dancing to the radio in the kitchen, or their bedroom door locked soundly, the radio unnaturally loud. Falling asleep I loved to listen to their voices talking and laughing. Oh they fought too, with passion, but the anger never lasted. The love did though. When she died, I think he would have too except for Damir and me, and she made him promise not to. But he never loved another woman again. Oh with his body yes, but not his mind, his heart, his soul. Smart man, unlike me.

When I met Danijela, I knew, the minute I saw her, she was mine. I knew what it would be like, like my parents marriage. Passionate, complete and the children, we both loved them that way. When they died, I found to my surprise that I didn't. I thought I would that my heart would just . . .stop. When I finally came home, my father took all the belts, ties and knives out of the house and locked them in the trunk of the car keeping the key around his neck. as if I didn't notice, as if I had the energy. I couldn't die there, but I couldn't live there either, so I left. Lived a lot of places, well halfway lived. Then I met Carol. There was recognition again, although not of passion, but of comfort, familiarity. She was kind and pretty, and there were the babies. I realized quickly she'd never give me all of herself, but she'd never ask me to do the same either. So it would be simple, easy, safe. But she chose passion in the end, not that I blame her.

Then there was Abby. Truth be told, there was safety there too. She didn't seem to want much from me, and she protected herself too. But there was a hint that the safety was illusory. However, distant we were in the day, in the night we gave and received with an abandon that left me astonished and dismayed at first. From the first night I should have sent her away, it was wrong, but it wasn't mechanical. Her body fit mine in a way I never expected to feel again. It was as if we'd always been lovers. We moved and touched without hesitancy, without disappointment. After a time, I began to wonder if the passion of the night might spill into the day, the way it had with Dani. So that doing the dishes, making the bed, making small talk, might all be infused with it. There were moments when that happened, and I was like a moth to a flame, waiting for more. The night we broke up I let the fire get out of control. Mesmerized by the glow, I didn't feel the pain till it was too late. After, I was sad, regretful and a little relieved. Out of danger. The red light glows 2:00 a.m. 

When Nicole came to my bed, I didn't have the heart to turn her out, but I didn't have the heart to open my eyes either. I would have married her in the end, cared for her, loved the baby, if there had been one to love. I would have never felt the heights of love, but the valleys would have been avoided too.

Then Abby was back. Did she ever really leave? Did we ever really let go? The moments, the glimmers of something more, they were there even with Nicole, even with Carter. We just pretended they weren't. When did I love her? I have no clue when I began to love Abby. Although, I know the moment I realized I could kill for her, Brian. I wanted to hurt him for what he did to her, for what he could have done to her. I wanted to protect her. I wasn't lying when I told him I'd kill him if he touched her again. He knew that too. When Susan brought up the possibility of rape, I thought fleetingly I would be sick. I quelled it, the feeling passed till I was finally home that night and I wretched. I should have seen the signs then, unbridled emotion, overwhelming concern, lacking moderation . . . passionate love. 

The first morning after she came to stay with me, I knew I could have kissed her. She would have melted into me; we would have lost ourselves in each other's bodies. But it would have been wrong, and I didn't want to make another mistake, not with Abby. We were pretty careful after that to avoid those moments. Still, I loved living with her, seeing her first thing after she'd woken up, the occasional shared meal, shared joke, shared beer. I knew I'd never seen her drink before, and now she was. Carter was the one to tell me of course. That she was an alcoholic. I'd spent almost a year with her and she'd never told me. It wasn't till then that I understood just how far away she'd kept me. A drunk he called her. My wife's not a drunk, it's a disease not a definition. Anyway, at that moment, I felt like a deer caught in headlights. I knew she was vulnerable, she needed time and space. I couldn't rescue her, however much I may have wanted to, only Abby could choose the direction she wanted her life to take. I understood that much.

I let her go in the end, in my confusion, in my concern, in my fear. Naively I felt we were tethered somehow, still. I didn't think the line would break. Maybe it didn't really, but it sure got way the hell stretched out. It wasn't until I saw her with Carter that I regretted it, what I had lost. It hurt to see her with him, to think of them together. But I didn't blame her how could I? It was my own damn fault. "Carter can have you." Bullshit.

When the opportunity arose to have her in my life again, not just in my bed, I realized that I was willing to risk the lows for the highs. If she could stand it, take the risk, so could I. Like a moth to a friggin bon fire. Let it singe my wings, just let me feel the heat again. Still I tucked something of myself away, I did it without realizing it. But I did it. The part of me I thought she'd never want . . . my fatherhood. But want it she did, and I was so besotted, I missed the moment I gave myself to her completely. Did it without considering the consequences. As always, lacking in moderation, in temperance, in self-control. So here I am, terrified. I've done it again. The friar urged Romeo to love moderately. Good advice yes, but for the second time in my life I've failed to heed it. And it's killing me. 

No not the love, the fear and the guilt. The guilt of having it all again. The fear of losing it all again.

The light's still glowing it's 4:00 a.m.

At 5:00 a.m., I give up and go downstairs. I feel like a stranger here. Who am I? Who married this woman, bought this house? I have no idea. I go out to the garden. I want work, so I start digging, turning the earth. I'm not sure why, but it feels good to do something. Do something. They're bleeding, they're dying . . .do something. There's nothing to do. 

Abby and Maggie come out for breakfast. I can hardly look at them. I can't begin to talk to them. What a coward I am.

When they leave so do I. I don't even know where I'm going. I walk for awhile, but my mind won't click off. I don't want to think, I want to not think. I want a drink. I want to drink many drinks. So that's what I do. 

"Can I buy you a drink?" The blonde at the end of the bar asks.

"No thanks."

"You look like you could use some company" I know that look, what it means. Little food, many drinks, my head's fuzzy, but not that fuzzy.

I hold up my hand and finger my ring.

"I'm married." I've got too much company as it is.

"That's okay, married men need company too." She's edging closer a sly smile on her mouth, she grazes my thigh with her hand. She doesn't want to take no for an answer.

I realize I can throw it all away, right now. I can chuck it all, tear it apart beyond recognition. It would be easy. She'd hate me. I'd hate myself. Game over.

"No thanks, I better get home." Whatever else I want it's not that.

Poor Abby, she's tied her rickety raft to mine. I thought it was sea worthy, really I did. Now I'm taking on so much water, I think it will pull us both under. Ironic, that's what it is. I'm the one going to take her down. Shit.

I go home anyway. What else is there to do? I have to go home and tell her I've made a mistake; she's made a mistake. I thought I could do it, but I can't. She deserves at least that. No, she deserves a lot more, but she's got me instead. Shit. Shit. Shit.

She's upstairs, so I sit, and I drink some more in the dark. What the hell, it suits my mood. I'm still thinking, but the pain's a little duller. She comes into the room ready for bed, and stands in front of me. 

"Where have you been?" she asks.

Hell. 

She tells me I won't find enlightenment in a bottle, I tell her she would know.

I'm a mean drunk.

She wants me to talk. Vaguely I wonder what would happen if I just never talked again. She starts to leave, and I know what would happen, and I want to stop it from happening.

"I don't think I can do this". Do what Luka? What are you telling her you can't do? She's in front of me, warm and alive, her belly, our baby right there in front of me. I grab her by the wrist and pull her down and against me. I want her so much, I want them so much. I hold her to me tightly. I want to feel warm and alive and safe. And I want to know that they're all those things too. I want it so much it's like an ache in my gut.

I tell her. I tell how it hurts. How I miss my babies. How cold they were the last time I touched them. How I'm afraid of what I'll feel when I see our baby, when it's alive and they're not. How I know I'm hurting her, taking her down with me. With the release of it, I feel sick. I feel sick because I'm hurting her, and I know it. I feel sick because I saw my children being born, and I saw them die, doing nothing to help either time. And, I feel sick with fear to do it all again. I can't quell it this time. I just make it to the bathroom before I'm heaving, ill.

I apologize. She dismisses it, and wraps herself around my back since I won't face her.

"I just . . can't bear it." I spit out.

"You won't have to. You don't have to be there." No, but I have to be here, I have to be somewhere, don't I?

"Fuck, I'm so afraid."

"I understand." If any one could, maybe it's her.

"I can't be in there thinking of Danijela or of them." Whatever else might happen, I can't do that, watch my baby being born and think of them as I last saw them. I can't even imagine it.

She tells me I'm not replacing them, but I feel like I am. I've never been anyone's father but theirs. 

Useless I tell her, useless in birth, useless in death. I can't look at her, I don't want to know what's in her eyes.

"Whatever happens there'll be a baby, you know — their brother or sister" she tells me.

I breakdown. Holding Abby, I cry as I haven't cried in years, maybe as I've never cried. I cry for Dani who I loved and lost. Who I watched give birth to my children, and I watched slip away as I sat and held our daughter, breathing for her, willing them both to live. I cry for Jasna, a beautiful girl with curls and a huge smile, and Marko with the sparkling eyes. I cry for Abby whose got so little of what she wanted from life and to whom I had hoped to give so much. I cry for our baby, who would never even exist if I had been able to save my family all those years ago. And I cry for myself because it's all right in front of me, if I only have the courage to take it up again. When I can cry no more, she leads me up to bed. Finally I sleep, but this time, I don't let her go.


	9. Heart of Darkness

Heart of Darkness

  
I don't have it, the courage I mean. I'm there again. The dark night of my soul, its descended on me like a thunder storm. The first night when I succumbed to sleep inebriated and exhausted I fell into a hellish nightmare of blood and death and birth, and its been the same every time I sleep since. Dani, Jasna, Marko, Abby, our baby all a muddle of pain and death and sorrow. Dani's moaning, Jasna's crowning and then its not Dani, its Abby, but she's not in labor she's lying trapped, bleeding and dying. Marko's smiling up at me one minute and then everything's falling in around us, and I can't find him. Always in the background a baby is crying, and I can't find it, I can never find the baby. I dread falling asleep. It's always different but always terrible. I wake with a start, so grateful to be out of there, and all I can do is reach for Abby. I'm overwhelmed by the need to make her live again. I want to consume her, I want to block it all out just for a moment, I want . . .I don't know what I want. It's as if taking her is the only way I can know she's alive. Strangely I feel like it's the only thing keeping me alive. Her mouth under mine, being inside her. But its not gentle, its savage, desperate and raw, and I cry after to think that when I fall asleep she'll die all over again. 

If the nights are hellish, the days are barren. I feel helpless, hopeless. What do I do how do I get out of this? I write. I write about my babies, my children. I write everything I can remember, everything I don't want to forget. It's so hard because I know I've already forgotten a million things. I can't understand why they died and I didn't. I would have for them. I would have traded places. Then it's worse because if I die for them, I obliterate Abby's baby. You see? I can't win anymore. There's no turning back. Its them or its the baby. It's like gall in my soul. I always had that before. I could die for them or I could change what I did and save them somehow. Leave Vulkovar when Dani wanted, take them with me to the store, anything just something different. Now I can't save them, not even in my mind because then I'm extinguishing someone else I love, and I'm letting Abby go. I never could give one up to save the other. It's the same hell played out in my mind over and over.

Abby's staying home from work to be with me. I hate what I'm doing to her. It's not fair. She's been so strong. I know that I could tip her over the edge into her own abyss. It's a fucking nightmare, all of it. I can't sleep more then a couple of hours at a stretch. I try to eat for Abby, she wants me to, but I can't keep it down. I'm cold and then I'm sweating and shaking. I wonder again, if I'll just die, without even trying, just melt away, disappear. And sometimes I hope that I do.

Its morning of the third day, I'm sitting trying to eat something. I watch Abby do the dishes, her hands moving, her shoulders squared. She's not going to do this with me. I mean she is, she's trying. But I know she won't stay here with me indefinitely. She's beyond that. She did it once before, but she won't again be tied to a ghost. She's a mother now she has to think of her baby . . .my baby . . .our baby. I'm proud of her, and I'm terrified too. I can lose them both. Some other man will love my wife, raise my baby. I know it. What will that accomplish? What will it prove? Nothing, not one damn thing.

I go upstairs and as always the food won't stay down. I look at myself in the mirror. I look like hell, like death. Damn you Kovac, you're not doing this. YOU ARE NOT DOING THIS. Pull yourself together, you find a way, find a way. I'm so cold. I get in the shower and turn it up as hot as I can stand. I can't save them, my babies, my children. I have to let it go. I have to save myself. I cry, my tears mingling with the water from the shower. My arms braced against the wall to hold myself up. When I'm done crying I say it out loud "Enough."

I go downstairs and find Abby. She tries to smile at me. I can't smile but I do manage to find my voice. I tell her to go to work. She needs to leave the tomb I've built here. I take her hand, her ring, its still there, there's still time. She wants to talk, but I need to figure this out for myself. This isn't about Abby right now. It's about me. Time to sink or swim.

I go into the garden. It looks bleak, the earth I dug, barren and empty like a graveyard waiting to be filled, like my soul. Time to fill in some of the holes. When she leaves for work, I go to a nursery and wander for a bit. I'm not sure what I'm looking for until I see them in the back against the wall. Trees. Small, but they'll grow. I look at each one, finally choosing a sweet almond for Jasna, almonds like the color of her eyes and a little cherry tree for Marko, red cherries like his cheeks. I take them home and plant them, and I give them water. I sit down near them, and I write some more. This time I write letters, one to Jasna, and one to Marko. I tell them how much I loved them, how happy being their father made me, that I'll always be their Tata, and that they are going to have a new brother or sister. I tell them stories about my life, my work, the house, Abby, the garden, their trees. And, I tell them that I'll always remember them. I promise to tell the baby stories about his guardian angels, his brother and sister. 

For the first time in a long time I'm hungry, I eat dinner and it stays down finally. I'm so tired I can't even keep my eyes open long enough to wash the dishes, so I give up and fall asleep.

I dream this time that I'm in a fog alone, the baby's still crying. Except there's no one dying. No one to be saved but myself, and a baby to find and love. When I wake, Abby's there and I take her hand, this time it's enough, and I fall asleep again.

By the time I wake up again she's gone. At first I'm scared and reaching for her, my heart pounding like a drum in my chest. Then I realize she's gone to work, and I can quiet myself. I get up and look in the mirror. Today's the day. I'm going to get ready for my baby. You see I'm going to be a father. So I get the paint Abby picked out a lifetime ago and a new carpet. I work all day on the nursery. Living a life alone and miserable is no way to honor my children. But maybe, being a good father again is.

Later that night, I find Abby standing in the nursery, her mouth open, her eyes wide. 

"Hey" I feel like I haven't spoken in years.

Its all before me again, I take a deep breath and muster my courage. Then I reach out and take hold of my wife, of my baby . . .of my life.


	10. Making It Up

Some sexual content in this one, innuendo mostly, nothing graphic.

Making It Up

She starts to head for the bathroom to get ready for bed.

"Leave it." I say.

She does and we fall into our bed in our clothes. I just want to hold her. I just want to be us again. 

When I wake up in the morning, I look down and watch her sleep. She reminds me of Jasna. They both sleep with a little smile curved on their lips like they have a delightful secret they're not telling. It's okay, this is going to work. There's room for them all. Hearts are expandable aren't they? I'm not giving this up, not for what I can never have, for what I can never change. I extricate myself carefully and shower and shave. I feel, well, I feel like a new man.

I sit on the edge of the bed watching her. I can't help myself I brush a strand of hair away. I just wanted to touch her. She wakes up and looks up at me and manages a smile. The surprise is I don't even have to try, I just smile back. I can talk now, about my children. I tell her about Jasna and Marko, and mornings with them. How they would crawl into bed between Dani and I. Jasna's giggles, Marko's smile. It feels like I've woken from a slumber. Like I've cast off a burden I didn't even know I carried. I wonder how many more I've stowed, I wonder how many she has. But I let that go. She'll help me, I'll help her, this just might work. I'm overwhelmed by tenderness and love for the woman looking up at me for her joy that I'm through the worst, for being happy to listen to stories about my life before her for all of it.

"I'm sorry." I say. It sounds so utterly inadequate even to me.

I don't have the words to tell her how I feel. I want to show her. I put my hands on her face, stroke her lips look into her eyes. She's so beautiful. I start to kiss her, lightly at first then more deeply. I keep my hands on her face and neck, till I know she wants them to move. And then they do. I undress her, touching, kissing, stroking. I speak to her in Croatian, tell her how beautiful she is, how much she means to me, how I love her body, how she makes me feel. I've done this before, and every time I tell myself I'll tell her in English next time, so she'll understand. But, I never do.

I press my lips into her neck, in the place I know she loves and listen to her breathing, heavy, excited. I want to erase the memory of every other man she's ever been with from her body, from her mind, from her heart. I don't want her to be able to remember what their hands or lips felt like on her body, none of it. I want her to forget the boys of her youth, Richard, Carter, even myself from the last few nights. I want it to be as if she's never had another lover. She wants to please me too, but I don't let her and eventually she gives up her hands helpless in my hair or pressed into my back. It's more then enough just watching, and feeling what I'm doing to her. I bring her to climax slowly, carefully. Then, I undress and run my hands over her body again. She reaches for me her hands roam all over me, she's still hungry, and I stoke her fire. I hold off until I can't stand it another minute and just then she groans, "Luka . . .please . . .now" and pulls me into her. I gasp at the exquisite sensations. I'm so ready, I don't think I'll last a minute. She arches her back and then I catch her eye, hear her breath still ragged. I know I can take her over the top again. That knowledge slows me down. I look into her eyes. We watch each other move. Lovers for the first time all over again. Taking pleasure from the other's desire as much as our own. When we climax, as if by mutual agreement we hold nothing back, and let out cries that echo in the empty house.

I bury my face in her neck. "I love you Abby"

The next few days I recuperate from my despair. I get my strength back. I find my balance again. I will myself back into life. At first I have to make myself do things, just normal things like the dishes or taking out the trash. But every day it gets easier. I want this, and I know I can be a husband and a father again. What I don't know is if I can be at the birth, but I so want to be. I need, a kick in the ass, and I know who can give it to me. I call the man who taught me to swim when I was 7 and still afraid by tossing me in the deep end, literally. Who when I was 14, made me hold the tiller of our boat when we were caught in a squall and I was terrified. Who told me even the train line wouldn't hire me if I didn't have the courage to take the entrance test for medical school.

"Tata?"

"Luka?"

"Da"

He asks me about Abby and the baby. I tell him they're fine.

"What then?" He knows me too well.

  
"You know what you were afraid of? It happened."

"God, Luka"

"Yeah"

"Tell me"

I don't tell him everything, he doesn't need that, no one does, but I tell him enough.

Silence.

"Tata, what do I do? I don't know if I can be there when the baby's born, but I can't stand to let her down like that, to let us down."

He sighs, then nothing for a minute.

" Luka what are you doing right now?"

"Talking to you"

"Where are you son?"

"What? Why?"

"Just answer the goddamn questions".

"In my house".

"Luka, what are you doing right now?"

Silence from me

  
"Luka, answer me"

"I'm talking to you" my voice is harsher, I don't feel like playing games.

"Where are you?" he shouts back

"I'm in my fucking house".

"Luka, what are you doing right now?"

Silence. "I get it Tata"

"That's it boy, in the moment, one minute at a time. You keep telling yourself where you are and what you're doing. You're with Abby, she's having your baby, you're in the hospital, you're in Chicago. She's okay, baby's okay. And you do it over and over and over again"

"What if it doesn't work?"

  
"Then try thinking about whatever it is you think about when you're making love to your wife."

"Pardon?"

"You know, when you're waiting for her to . . . catch up"

Silence

"Luka you do wait don't you?"

  
"Tata!"

"What the hell Luka, it might work."

I laugh a little"What if it doesn't?"

  
"Then you'll have to leave, and she'll understand."

"Really? Because I'm not sure I will."

"She loves you Luka, she'll understand. Look, she agreed to take on certain things about you when she married you just like you agreed to take on certain things about her when you married her didn't you?"

  
"Yes"

"You gonna give up if she takes another drink someday" 

  
I shiver, "No"

"You gonna give up, if her mother comes to visit and runs down your block naked?'

I cringe, "No"

"Alright then, she's not going to give up if you can't do this. Just be sure she knows you love her"

"Yes, Tata"

"And Luka?"

  
"Yes?"

  
"I love you"

I love you too Tata"

"Tell Abby Ivica is a very good name for a boy"

  
"I'll try"

"I know you will son, I know you will".

I've got two weeks on nights as penance to Weaver and the night before I go back Abby gives me the cold shoulder, she's pissed and I'm not sure why.

She won't talk, tells me nothings wrong and she goes up to bed obviously angry.

Well what did you expect Kovac, you just put her through hell, surely the last thing she needed was your onslaught. You just went right ahead and ruined this for her didn't you? Couldn't resist bringing her down, disappointing her.

Wait a minute. Guilt. Isn't that what all this was about in the first place? It's my old, trusty companion. Except really he hasn't been very good to me has he? Abby can't drink; I can't do guilt. It's my secret addiction. We both get mired down in even the smallest taste don't we? Because if I go there I know what will happen, she'll be angry, I'll be guilty and we'll both close down, and choke on it. It won't be the big catastrophes that will take us down. It will be the little deaths every day. Or not.

So, no guilt then, I try to figure it out is she mad because of what we've been through, because I've got two weeks of nights, because I left the toilet seat up one to many times. Or is it some kind of test? No, it doesn't feel like that it feels more like a habit. This is what she does, how she hides. So what do I do? Well, maybe nothing tonight, I'll sleep on it. When I go up to bed, she pretends to be asleep and I let her. I wake up alone, she's in the bathroom brushing her teeth, she's still angry, frothing in fact as the toothpaste is clinging around her mouth. I try again. Finally she spills it.

I scared her, hell I scared myself. Can't blame her for being upset. Still, shit happens right? Sometimes my shit, sometimes her shit, that's how it is. I get it. She's not done this before, marriage I mean. Whatever she had with Richard, it wasn't a marriage, not really. Hell, I don't think she's ever even seen a good marriage before. Well then, I guess I'll tell be the one to let her in on the secret. It ain't easy.

She gets it. In fact she's smiling. 

She forgives me, but I owe her. She tells me she'll name her terms after she thinks about it. What can I say, I think she deserves to name some pretty steep terms for this one.

Guess I'll let her in on another secret then . . . toothpaste . . .mouth . . . foam. She's cute when she's rabid I tell her and then I beat a hasty retreat. 


	11. Something to Be Thankful For

"Something to Be Thankful For"

She's getting big. Well the baby is. Moving, our baby is moving. I love the feeling when I put my hands on her belly and feel the kicks, the turns, the hiccups. There is nothing more amazing on earth than a woman's body. Nothing. She doesn't appreciate it, tells me she's fat, huge. She's not. She's all baby and breasts and well, beautiful. Except for the ankles, the ankles are like my Baka Ivana's. But everything else is lovely. 

The mornings we're off we lie in bed, and I rub her belly. I talk to the baby in Croatian. I'm even singing a song to Junior. The same one every day so he'll know it. She teases me, but I tell her to wait and see it will give me an edge with the baby when he cries. 

"I don't have breasts, I'll need something"

"So that's it then, my secret weapon are my breasts?" She seems bemused.

"Pretty much."

"And yours is your singing voice? Cause I'm not getting the equality there."

"Well I have to choose my weapon depending on my intended target, your breasts have many tactical advantages."

She giggles at this, see, I told her she just needed some practice, giggling I mean. She's getting good. I consider seizing this opening for some target practice of my own, but she deflects me which is something she's been doing a lot of lately.

"The baby will think you only speak Croatian."

"Well, that's the plan until Junior is at least three."

"What?"

  
"I'm only speaking Croatian to the baby till he's at least three. It's the best way to pass on the language."

"You're serious. I'm not going to know what you're saying to my child for at least three years?"

I consider this, but I'm not compromising on this point and she knows it.

"Well, you could if you understood Croatian."

Her wheels are turning.

"Okay then, how about this, you talk to the baby in Croatian, and then tell me what you're saying and I'll try to learn while the baby does."

"Junior will outpace you."

"Well I've got a head start if you begin now."

"Fair enough."

"And you could do the same thing when we're making love and you get going in Croatian, that would give me even more of a head start."

I blush.

"Junior won't need to know those words for awhile."

This makes her blush too, and provides me another opening, which I take, but it proves to be tactically challenging to say the least. Unfortunately things go down hill from there. And when, she starts sighing and rolling her eyes when I reach for her, that's the end. I am not going to have our lovemaking feel like her friggin wifely duty.

We've moved past the second trimester hormonal rush, we're into the third trimester. Which means lovemaking is complicated and requires creativity, agility and motivation that sadly Abby lacks. Unfortunately my own motivation is undiminished, but then again I don't have heartburn, backache, a constricted bladder and a rather unwieldy abdomen. It's not like I haven't abstained before and for really a frightfully long time, but it's different when the woman you love is lying next to you. Not that Dani and I didn't have our slow times around the kids. Maybe my memory is faulty on this point or maybe it's the difference between having a baby when you're 20 and when you're . . .not. Anyway, you get my meaning, and I'm getting pretty much nothing. 

I know what you're thinking. It's not just sex. It's never been just sex. It was our first connection, what we had when nothing else was working, when nothing about us even made sense. Moments of beauty, of tenderness of mutuality, making love, not sex. We've been so hungry for each other since we got back together, it's made me feel, alive, kept me alive for awhile. I feel like I'm part of her when I'm inside her, like we're part of each other. Knowing she's wanted me as much as I do her, that means something to me, more than she understands, more than I can burden her with.

It's starting to affect my mood. The nurses at work are giving me dirty looks so I know I've been short. In the locker room, I complain to Malik about a missed order. He looks at me unimpressed.

"Pregnant wife huh?"

"What?"  
  
"Happens every time doctor's wife is pregnant, they take it out on the nurses."

My eyes narrow.

"Don't worry Doc, it always passes. Well .. . . .almost always."

"What?"

"Dr. Corday . . . . .".

My eyes get wide, and I'm not sure but I think I must look pretty scared cause he back pedals pretty fast.

"Naw, Doc, you'll be fine, Abby's cool, no worries."

Just then she waddles into the room. No, I mean waddles. One hand on her back her belly pushed out, her gait oddly swaying. She falls onto the sofa and lifts her legs to reveal ankles that must be as big as my calves.

"My back aches, my feet throb, my glucose must be 20, and I can't tie my goddamned shoelace." There are tears in her eyes. 

Now its Malik's turn , his eyes get wide, fear plain on his face. He mumbles about letting us have time alone before bolting from the room. Coward.

I hand her a carton of milk from the fridge and some crackers I find in the drawer.I sit down on the tiny edge of couch currently available. I tie her shoelace while I talk.

  
"I'll find you a sandwich for the ride home, we'll pick up some Chinese from that place you like on the way, and I'll give you a foot rub after dinner." I stand up and then I lean over her and look her in the eyes.

"And this is your last 12 hour shift, no more then 8 from now on. I don't care how short staffed they are."

She looks up at me and for the first time in our married life she nods obediently. 

"I'll pull the car into the ambulance bay."

"Luka?"

I'm ready for words of gratitude and affection.

"Haul me off this damn sofa, I've got to pee before my bladder explodes."

Sweet.

I bend over so she can get purchase on my shoulders and as I heave I say

"What about my back?" We hang onto each other after she makes it upright.

"What's the point of being married to a big strong man if I can't take advantage of it?"

"That's what I've been trying to point out to you." I quip.

She smiles, and heads for the bathroom.

She turns around "Luka?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you" I can see that she means it, and I shrug.

"It's the least I can do after knocking you in."

"Up"

*********************************************************

Maggie's coming for Thanksgiving as planned. I tell Abby I'm going to pick her up at the bus station. I want to deal with any awkwardness before Maggie gets here. I'll be damned if I'm going to let anything ruin this holiday for Abby.

"Luka? Over here." She's waving, and smiling "Hi, thanks for coming to get me you're so sweet."

"No problem these yours?' Geez how long is she staying, she's got four bags.

"I just brought a few things for the baby . . .and Abby . . ..and you."

I load everything in the car. Maggie seems surprised and well thrilled that I hold the door open for her and help her in.

Before I can say it she tells me she'd like to buy me some coffee, I guess we both have the same idea. Maggie makes idle chatter until we stop at a coffee shop on the way home.

Over coffee she says, "Luka, I just want to say how sorry I am. I never meant to hurt you, or to bring up such painful, painful memories. I know there's no excuse, but I really hope you can forgive me. I just want us to be . . .close. . . like family."

She watches me with big brown eyes, under her bangs. I meet her gaze.

"It wasn't your fault. It would have happened sometime. I thought I was through it, but I wasn't."

"But if I just hadn't said those things, you might have had more time to process everything."

"No, Maggie, you did me a favor, it would have been far worse if it had come out at the birth or when we brought the baby home."

"You're too kind."

I shake my head. She considers me for a moment. "You love her very much don't you?" The way she says this makes me think of Abby on a cold winter morning long ago when she asked me about Dani. It's a strange feeling.

"Yes"

"She loves you a great deal I can tell by the way she looks at you. You're good for her too."

"We're good for each other."

"Yes, I believe that. Does she ever talk about her father to you Luka?"

"Not much, nothing good."

"She adored him. Before he left I mean. She would put on shows for him, draw him pictures, anything she could think of to make him happy. I always tried to tell her it was me he left, not her, but I'm not sure she ever really believed that."

"Surely she does now."

"Mmmm yes, I'm sure on some level she does, but I don't know those wounds can cut deep."

"Yes"

"It was hard for her, I think especially after the disaster with Richard, to believe that someone could really love her for who she is, not for who they wanted her to be. I saw that when you were together the first time, she wasn't sure of you."

"And you're telling me this now, because . . .. "

"Because now it's different. She is sure of you in a way that I don't think she's ever been sure of anything or anyone else in her life . . .ever, and because I think you should know what that means to her, and because I'm not sure she'll ever know how to tell you that."

Her eyes are full and damn if mine aren't too.

"Thank you Maggie."

"No, thank you Luka."

So we finish our coffee and get in the car where Maggie picks up on the apology thread, telling me how she always manages to say the wrong thing especially when she wants to make a good impression. How her talking has got her into trouble with Abby in the past. Which leads her to telling me Abby stories in general which is rather fun. By the time we get home, we're old friends. And I've heard enough apologies to last a lifetime.

Maggie and I do the cooking, we all stuff ourselves at the table, and have really a great time. Maggie's lively, and I can see where Abby gets her quick mind and her sharp wit. It's odd to see a different reflection of the person you love. I wonder if it's like that for Abby when we're with Tata.

After dinner in the kitchen as we clean up, Maggie asks about names for the baby. What happens next makes me wonder if Abby will ever cease to surprise me. Hell, I hope not.

"Daniel for a boy . . . for Danijela," I can't believe what she's just said. I'm surprised, deeply touched and honestly unsure how I feel about the idea. It's a beautiful thought, a gesture of amazing generosity and self-possession, it awes me, and I feel a surge of love for her.

"And if it's a girl? You have that figured out too?" We've locked eyes, and its one of those moments when the rest of the world seems to slip away, and can it be or is that a flicker of desire I see in her eyes. Then she's damn lucky Maggie's in the room. Because suddenly the idea of taking my very pregnant wife right there on the cold, hard kitchen floor is strangely appealing. Baka ankles or no. Yes, I'm that bad off.

So there it is Daniel Ivica (she doesn't know that part yet) for a boy, Rosa Margaret for a girl. Kovac in any case. Abby's terms. I'll take the deal.

I lie in bed, hands under my head, feeling good, well fed, happy that the day went so well, damn lucky indeed. Abby crawls into bed, but she doesn't do her usual routine of constructing the fucking walls of Jericho with her 40 some odd pillows, or more like the no-fucking walls of Jericho. She surprises me, by reaching for me with a sly smile.

Not wanting to seem too easy, I let out the sigh of one very put out, much as she did the last time I made a move on her.

She pulls back, surprise etched on her very pretty face.

"You must be joking?"

"You're damn right I'm joking." I put my hand behind her head and bring her mouth down on mine. And I let her have her way with me.

I'm just drifting off to sleep, lying on my stomach clinging to the small edge of bed not occupied by Abby and her pillows. 

"Luka?" I fight my way back to consciousness. Now a few weeks ago, I would have known what this meant, but even I understand that there is not a snowball's chance in hell that she's wanting another go tonight.

"What?"

"I've been thinking . . . would you mind very much if I took your name?" 

Even in my fog, I can tell her voice is tentative, as if this is a favor or big request. Two thoughts enter my head. First, it has always been hers to take or not as she wanted. I'm surprised she feels she needs my permission. I'm not sure why she thought she'd have to butter me up, but who am I to complain. And the second, that my wife has my number, and you know basically I'm screwed. This makes me smile.

"What's mine is yours. Help yourself."

There's a pause. I don't want her to think she's married beneath her.

"But won't that be sort of confusing?" I ask.

"Confusing?"

"Yeah, two Luka's in the same family?"

One of the forty pillows bounces soundly off my head, and I chuckle as I fall into the sleep of the truly content.


	12. Night Moves

"Night Moves"

Cold . .. . like ice. Abby's feet on the back of my legs. I look at the clock, eyes blurry from sleep. 4:10 a.m.. She's fidgeting and fussing with her pillows. I roll over. "Hey, you okay?"

"Heartburn . . . . and Maggie."

"Everything alright?"

"Yeah, actually we had a really good talk."

"More apologies?"

"Kind of."

"They ever going to stop?"

"No"

She still can't get comfortable. I push aside some pillows. "Use me." 

I pull a couple more behind me, so I can prop her up against me and she finds a way to rest her belly on mine and drape a leg over my two and then seems to settle.

"Comfortable? "

"As if, but this is probably as good as it gets."

"I'm better then a body pillow?"

"More bells and whistles anyway." 

"Excuse me?"

"Bells and whistles, it means fancy."

"I'm fancy?" 

"You are" I smile and I can feel her smile on my chest.

"Happy?" I stroke her hair with one hand, rub the other over her belly, and feel the occasional twist or kick.

"You happen to be the second person whose asked me that question today, and the sun's not even up. But in this moment, despite a few discomforts, yes, I am, I'm happy. You?"

"Mmmhmm. Bet you never thought when you asked me out, that we'd end up here, Dr. and Mrs. Kovac, house in the suburbs, mother-in-law in the guest room, baby on the way . . . "

"No, I was just hoping for some great sex." We laugh. I don't think anyone else in my whole life has made me laugh more easily then Abby.

"Gee, my hopes were a lot more innocent."

"Oh?"

"Yes, I just wanted to know what it would be like to really kiss you, not a little peck like in the ambulance bay."

"And what was it like?"

"To kiss you? It was like opening a door to a place I never thought I would see again. It took me a long time to walk through the doorway, but still it was nice to know it existed." 

"Is that where we are?"

"Yes"

"It is nice."

"It's going to change though very soon. I mean it will still be good, but it will be different. You'll disappear into the baby for awhile, and we'll both be falling in love with someone else."

"You better mean Junior." She strokes my lips with a finger and I turn my head to kiss her palm.

"Yes, we'll both fall in love with the baby." I'm rewarded for this by a kick so strong I feel it on my stomach. "Wow she's strong."

"She?"

"That's what the Croatian grandmothers tell me, and they're hardly ever wrong."

"Do you care?"

"What? Girl or boy, no . . . you?"

"No not really, although I feel like I've already raised a boy, a girl would be nice, but either, really."

"So Abby if it's a boy, I was thinking, I'd like it if the middle name were Ivica."

"Well seeing as he's partly responsible for this, that sounds about right. Now if he could just do some of the work of getting the baby out, it would all be fair."

"I don't think I want to even consider seeing Ivica in labor." I mean it lightly, but there's a weighty pause.

"And me?"

"I want to be there Abby, if you want me there. I can't make guarantees, but I can promise you I'll do my best, to give you whatever you need . . .want." I've come a long way but he thought of Abby in pain, and me helpless still wrenches my gut. 

"Just you, you'll be enough. . . . .and if you have to leave, then you do, it will be okay" 

"No it won't be."

"Don't do that Luka, not to yourself, not for me. A very generous man once told me, some things aren't fair to require from another person, that love shouldn't have that steep a price. I didn't _really_ understand it then, but I do now. And he was right." Her voice is firm, mine comes out kind of raspy and dry.

"I'll be there Abby, I'll find a way. You should get some more sleep." She nestles into me even closer. Damn I'm lucky.

"Sing us to sleep."

And I do.


	13. No Pain, No Gain

No Pain, No Gain

Maggie stays a couple of days after Thanksgiving. It's really sort of interesting to watch. At times Abby is completely easy and in the moment with Maggie. Then there are the moments when I see her face shift, and I know she's reminded of another place and time, sometimes good, sometimes bad. But she always struggles back. I can see that. Sometimes I think I can actually see her biting her tongue, other times she leaves the room on some excuse. I'm proud of her, and I wonder how she got here from where she was. It's something I need to learn. The letting go of the past to be in the present. I'm working on it. I'm getting there, but she's ahead of me, and that's not something I really expected. I guess I assumed I'd be the teacher not the student. I told you I can be arrogant.

After Maggie leaves, Abby talks me into what I already know we have to do. Get rid of the Viper. It's time, more then time in some ways. But damn, I loved driving that car. To tell you the truth though it's a reminder of a rather uncomfortable time in my life. With Abby gone, dating, being the bachelor that seemed like the thing to do. Problem was I wasn't very good at it. I never knew when to stay or when to go, when to say yes, when to say no, or even how the game was really supposed to be played. Like a baby in the woods. Part of the problem was that none of the women I dated were Abby. They might be pretty, but they didn't have her smile. They might be kind, but not as funny. They might be funny, but not as smart, never quite right.

Anyway we trade in the Viper, for get this, a Volvo, 

"They have the best safety record." Abby says confidently. 

Whoopee! Okay so I'm really 16. Sue me.

I tell her I'll take her out to dinner to comfort myself and celebrate getting the house back to ourselves.

Over dinner she tells me what is was like to have Maggie visit. The things she remembered, what she liked, what drove her crazy, like never being able to find anything in the kitchen, all of it. It feels amazing. It's like reading a great book. I'm let into the inner sanctum as it were. Which makes me realize how I don't do that for her enough. It's so hard for me to tell her what I'm thinking and feeling. Partly because it's been a lifetime since I've done it, if I ever really did, and partly because I don't want to burden her. Although, I'm beginning to wonder if my silence isn't the bigger burden. 

There is something that's been bothering me, but I've felt I shouldn't say anything that she doesn't need to worry about it. Maybe that's wrong. Maybe it's part of the deal, like my past. As we walk to the car I screw up my courage and say it. Hell, if she can do this so can I. 

"I know you haven't been really feeling your best, and I know you'll need time after the baby and that it will take some getting used to being a mother, but . . .well . .. .I just . . . I want . . ." I feel really awkward, shy, foolish.

"What Luka?" We stop walking.

I take a deep breath and just say it.

"I want us to feel like lovers. I don't want to lose that. I want to be your husband and your friend and the father of your baby. But I want to be your lover too. Does that make any sense?" I'm so bad at this really. It's like speaking a foreign language in a foreign language. She takes pity on my ineptness.

She reaches up and brushes the hair from my face, rests her hand on my cheek for a second and nods, her eyes are tender, then she shakes her head, a little smile playing across her lips.   


"You must be the horniest man alive, I'm as big as a house" there's laughter in her voice. Ah I see, she's letting me off the hook. She's let me know she gets this is important to me, but she's not going to make me go into the gory details like how long I've been feeling this way, what I think it means, on and on. God, I love this woman.

"No, you're voluptuous" my hands slide down her back and over her ass. I press my forehead into hers.

"Luka . . .. " I start nibbling her ear. "Okay, give me the car keys."

"What?"

"Give me the keys"

I hand her the keys and she walks over, unlocks the car and opens not the front but the rear door.

"What are you doing?" I'm not sure what she's up to here.

"You're worried things are getting dull, this won't be dull."

"You've got to be kidding." Even I think the mechanics of this will be daunting. 

"No one's around." Her eyes are dancing mischievously. She's right, the little parking lot behind the restaurant is deserted.

"We'll never fit." I shake my head, grinning.

She cocks her head to one side and considers me. "We'll see."

"You're serious?"

"Were you?" She tilts her head and grins back.

I nod, laughing. 

  
"You better get in first and you better be good." She says and gestures me into the car.

I do and I am. Although I'm not sure we've ever laughed harder. Maybe Volvos aren't so bad after all. 

**************************************************

So, it's one step forward, ten steps back. Because when I wake up on that day, the anniversary of the day they died, I feel so alone. I roll over and watch Abby sleep for awhile, then I get up and go outside and look at the trees. They seem barren in the cold winter morning. I know where I want to go, somewhere I haven't been in years. But today, that's where I know I need to be. And I need to go there alone.

When I come in, she's awake in the kitchen getting the breakfast she now eats. 

"Hey" I say and I kiss her lightly on the lips. "I've got to do something. I'll be back in a couple of hours" Tell her, tell her where you're going. I don't. 

"Okay" she says pouring some orange juice.

Just as I'm at the doorway she says "Tell her I said hi."

I go cold. "Who?" My voice cracks. 

"Your mistress of course." She doesn't turn to look at me, she doesn't see my face, which is a good thing, or she would think it wasn't a joke.

"Yeah" I say and I leave, I can almost feel her turn around and watch me go.

I enter the large doors and bless myself with ice cold water. I genuflect and find a place near the back. I purposefully avoid a Croatian church. I don't want to be with others who remember the siege because that's not what I'm mourning, not today. I'm here because for the first time, I really can hardly see them. Vague flashes but not like before. I can't conjure them up. And I don't know what it means. Funny, I can see my mother so clearly right now.

The music starts. I always loved the music. My mother took me to church twice a week when I was a boy. I haven't been to mass in years, not since they died. And here I am today. I'm not sure why I wanted to come today. I suppose because I don't feel angry anymore. I feel . . .. empty. 

The priest begins mass, I almost can't believe my ears. He has an accent, an accent like mine. I think it's a sign, but a sign of what I don't know. Just when I think there's no "master plan" life throws me something, however small, that makes me wonder all over again. 

The prayers, the kneeling, Communion it's all as I remembered. Somehow I think its all more beautiful in Croatian, but still there's a reverence here, something timeless that feels right on a day like today.

After mass I sit, I don't know what I'm waiting for, or maybe I do. The priest comes out and begins tidying, but glances at me now and then, and finally he makes his way over to me.

"Good morning" he says and I decide to take a chance and answer in Croatian.

"Good morning", he nods and sits and we chat for a few minutes. He's from Zagreb; he left before the war. He asks what he can do for me. I begin to talk slowly at first and then more steadily. I tell him about Dani, and the children, my loss of faith. I tell him about Abby and the baby. I tell him how many times I've thought I've worked it all through and about my breakdown and my fears about the birth. And finally I tell him that I can't see them, today of all days I can't see them anymore.

"What does that mean? Is it over? I've thought so many times that I was done, had moved beyond it, and then something . . .happens. I don't know anymore,"

"Luka, I'm a man of faith. I believe that Danijela, Jasna and Marko are in a far better place then you and I. They haven't needed you for years. It is you who has needed them. Maybe . . . .maybe you don't need them anymore."

I nod and he goes on.

"Grief like yours that is a process, not an event, maybe saying good-bye has been a process too. Finally letting them go doesn't diminish what you had with them, but maybe hanging onto them, onto the grief. I think . . . I think maybe it's diminishing what you can have now, with your wife, with your baby. I think you don't want that"

I nod again and the words come out staccato "I want it to be over." Those are the hardest words I think I've ever said.

"Then let's say goodbye one last time together hmm?"

  
"Yes"

"I'll be back in a moment."

When he returns he's wearing his vestments, he puts three candles on the altar and prepares the incense and together we say the prayers for the dead in Croatian. When we're done he nods at the candles.

"Shall I or would you like to do it?"

"I'll do it." I stand for a moment and then one by one I blow them out. It feels like I'm calling the longest and most painful code of my life. 

I bend my head expecting the waves of sorrow, but they don't come instead I just feel .. . peaceful. And then a longing comes over me so strong, I can't bear it.

"Luka would you like to stay and have lunch with me" he rests his hand on my shoulder.

"No, I have to - I have to see her."

"Luka?" There's concern in his voice and I look up to see it etched on his face as well.

"My wife, I have to see my wife, I have to see Abby." 

He smiles and nods. "Go home to your family Luka."

I take his hand and shake it " Thank you Father." He waves his other hand to dismiss me.

I turn and almost run down the aisle. Before I get to the door he calls out to me in English, "I do a mean Baptism"

I turn and nod and grin. "We'll think about it"

As I drive home I realize my life in the present finally means as much to me as the life I had then. Dani and I, we never really got to the hard part of marriage. We were so young and uncomplicated. Between the kids, medical school, the war, life never gave us much space to worry about who we were becoming either as individuals or a couple. We really just lived. I know that someday we would have had to start the hard work. I know we could have done it. But the thing is, Abby and I, we've been doing the hard work since day one. My life with her is more real to me then anything else I've ever known or done. She wasn't wrong this morning, in some ways I've let my past, my grief, be my mistress. Not telling Abby things because I didn't want to hurt her or burden her. I'm beginning to see what a mistake that was. Maybe I need to tell her what I never thought I would. If she doesn't know where I was, how can she ever appreciate where I am, where we are?

I get home and come up behind her and wrap my arms around her. I rest my hands on her belly. She feels so good, she smells so good, I drink her in. She knows I've been at church from the scent of incense clinging to me. I tell her I can't see their faces anymore even though when I first woke up this morning I thought it would be easy to see them.

"I'm sorry" she says and I know she is.

"Don't be. I'm not."

"No?"

"No." I need to tell her just how right she was that night when she accused me of being married to a ghost. Because now I understand that not saying it, pretending it wasn't true, is really the only part of Dani left between us. It's time to put the last of it away. 

"When we were together before . . .I . . sometimes, when I looked at you . . I saw her."

"You couldn't see me?" Her voice is a little pinched but steady.

"No, no I saw you. I think it was because — " I can't do it.

"Go on."

I take a breath and plunge in "I think it was because I knew, I mean somewhere inside of me I knew, that you couldn't see me. I needed to see someone who saw me" There's a sharp intake of breath.

"You see me now?"

"Always." I hold her tighter, it's the truth. "Always."

"I wish — "

"Don't wish. Don't wish." I've wasted too much time wishing already.

"OK. No wishing. Just . . . doing." 

I'm quiet for a long time before I say "Yes."

I take her hand and pull her down into the big chair in our living room so she's sitting on my lap. And I tell her about the mass, the priest and the candles, all of it.

"I don't need them anymore. I need you. I need us." I bury my face in her neck. And then the tears come, I feel them cool and damp on my cheek. 

"Don't cry Abby, don't cry."


	14. Risky Business

Risky Business

A few days later we're having breakfast in the kitchen. We've got the day off and the plan is to finish off the baby's room. I'm reading the paper and she's sipping her tea when she says

"I'm thinking of inviting Deb and Carter over for dinner tomorrow, you know to finally thank them for the wedding lunch. What do you think?"

  
"Okay"

"You don't mind?"

"No, why?"

"Sometimes I don't know if you really like him." She's stirring her tea idly as she says this, avoiding my gaze.

" I like him, I just don't have that much in common with him other than you." I put my paper down.

"Does that bother you?"

"What?"

"Carter and . . .me does that bother you?"

She's still looking down and I sense one of those damned if I do/damned if I don't moments coming on. I'm not a complete idiot. I take the hand she has on the table.

"I'm glad he's your friend. I'm not glad he was your lover, if that's what you're asking."

"Did I just do that?" Her eyes get wide in alarm, and she meets my eye.

"What?"

"Try to get you to tell me you were jealous of Carter?"

"I think maybe you did." We're both smiling now.

"I can't believe I did that." She shakes her head, incredulous.

"Do you want me to be jealous? Cause you know if you want I'll challenge him to another duel."

"Oh, God, no." 

"Good, then why don't you just invite him to dinner, and I'll try not to jab him with my steak knife." She laughs at this.

"Thanks, I don't think I'll be able to keep a straight face during dinner."

"Ah, good, it will be our private joke, and you're not allowed to tell him."

"Tell him you threatened him with the cutlery? Not in this life, and I think I'll cook pasta, safer that way."

That night we hold hands across the expanse of pillows. I'm thinking about our conversation about Carter, and I realize I wasn't really honest with her. And maybe she needs to hear that, maybe she needs it more than I thought.

"Abby?"

"Yes?"

"I was jealous."

  
"What?"

"When you were . . . .with Carter, I hated it. But I let it go a long time ago. I mean I think it had to happen in some ways. You had to know. Better for me that you don't wonder."

"I don't"

"I know. . .. .But just so we're clear. Carter can't have you."

"I know." 

She squeezes my hand more tightly. I understand. I finally get it. She did need to hear it, even if she already knew.

"Luka?"

'Yeah"

"When you said I didn't see you before when we were making love. You weren't wrong, but I don't want you to think . ."

"What?"

"That I saw someone else."

"Oh." Thank God. She turns toward me we lie facing each other, inches apart.

"I always sort of felt that you were. . borrowed . . that we were temporary. It was hard for me to . . .be there sometimes. I guess I didn't think you noticed that I wasn't all there."

"You didn't think I cared."

"No, not really." I reach out and stroke her face. I was such a fool.

"What did you think you were my bed warmer?"

"At first. Then I thought you were a nice guy who was too polite to run like hell."

"You should have run first."

"I did. Well, I didn't run. I hid instead. I hid with Carter. Then we . . .we weren't too real."

"But now, we are."

"Always"

"Scary huh?"

"You scare the shit out of me."

"Still?"

"Only when I think."

"Don't think . . . ."

"Do?" She smiles now.

"Do." I start to reach for her, but stop myself. "Abby, you understand you're stuck with me now."

"You're non-refundable?"

"I didn't tell you about that?"

"Must have been in the fine print."

"I can show you."

"What?"

"The fine print, but you have to come a little closer"

"Like this?" She moves in so our lips are almost touching.

"More like this . . . . " I surprise her by forgoing her lips for the place on the nape of her neck that always tickles. I love it when she giggles.

So Carter and Jing-mei come for dinner. Abby really does make pasta, which I tease her about before they arrive.

"Aren't you afraid, I'll hang him with the linguine?"

"You really aren't that funny. You know that don't you?"

What? I'm hysterical. I'm really under appreciated in the humor department.

After dinner, Jing-Mei asks to see the nursery and Abby takes her upstairs. Carter passes on the idea, so we go into the living room and drink our coffee.

We make small talk for awhile, then he looks around and says, 

"I'm sorry I was such an idiot when I first found out about the baby."  
I wave my hand, but he goes on.

  
"No, I mean it, I . . I was worried about Abby that the stress might be too much you know trigger another relapse, but I think . . .I think. . . it was more then that. It felt weird that it happened so quickly for you two. That she could trust you like that so fast, when we were . . . we were . . .really such a disaster." He chuckles a little uneasily.

"She wasn't ready then Carter. She went through a lot to get to the place to be ready. Life's like that sometimes."

"That and she loves you."

"That helped, but still its more complicated than that." He nods, he seems more relaxed now.

"Tell me this. If Abby and I had married, would you have come to our house for dinner."

I don't say anything right away, although I know the answer in an instant.

"No. Would you have invited me?"

"Hell no. Which I suppose means things worked out for the best." We both chuckle a little.

"Is that what that means?" .

"I think you're a very brave man Luka"

  
"Why?"

  
"I don't know for doing this with Abby, for taking the risk . . again . . " He's tentative, almost sorry he said it, I can tell.

  
"There are risks to not taking risks too"

"I never thought about it like that. Still I think about Deb's labor, and I was just there as a friend. I can't imagine . . . . ."

"The day the baby comes is amazing, I wouldn't miss it . .. . missing it would be too risky."

"Not being there? What's the risk?" his eyebrows go up.

  
"The risk is it's a moment that you'll never get back, that you can't re-do. The risk is your wife will need you and you won't be there. The risk is you won't find out what you can do.. . . or what you can do together." This is more than I expected to say. Hell, it's more than he expected to hear.

"Most people don't really want to find their limits" he offers.

This is getting too serious, so I lighten the mood.

"Most people aren't married to Abby." He bursts out laughing just in time for Abby and Deb to come in and give us funny looks. Abby eyes me. 

I look back. What? 

I told you I was funny.

*************************************************************

A couple of days later, we're cozy, relaxing after my shift, and she asks if she can talk to me. She tells me she's decided she wants natural childbirth, no medication, no epidural, no nothing. She wants to feel it all.

"You do know they'll try and talk you out of it." I know enough about birth in America to know this is true.

"Coburn tried already"

"And you might feel a little differently after twelve hours of labor." I saw lots of women give birth naturally in Croatia, even the ones who do usually have a moment of despair.

"I know. That would be your job." She's right if a woman's going to give birth without medication, she's going to need someone to back her all the way. That would be me. I answer simply.

"OK."

"OK?"

She seems surprised, but I tell her its up to her, she's seen enough to know what she wants. She was a labor nurse, she knows what this means.

She asks me if she should arrange back-up, in case I can't be there. Actually, I'm kind of dense and don't get it at first, I think she means if I'm working, but that's not what she's talking about at all. I suppose I've been so sure about this lately that I thought she was too. That's what happens when you assume.

"Wait, you mean you think you should ask someone to be there instead of me? You have anyone in mind? Carter maybe?" It's my turn to be incredulous. I can't believe I just said that. So much for being big about the whole thing, but you know, over my dead body.

She tells me not to be mad, I'm not mad. Okay, I'm a little mad. I just thought we were on the same page with this stuff. That she knew I wanted to do this. She tells me she wants me to feel like I have a choice. I remind her how I assumed what she would feel when my family came for their visit, and that was a big problem. She didn't want me to make assumptions about her limits then, and I tell her she shouldn't do that with me now. I kiss her lightly, to take the frown off her face.

"I can do this Abby, I'm not afraid of it. But if you think it's too big a risk . "

She's quiet for a minute then "I'm all about risk."

"You?" I say in mock surprise.

"I live for risk" she says tossing her head.

"I thought you lived for me." I nudge her gently with my shoulder.  


"No, but you're my best risk." She's flirting with me now.

"No, the baby's your best risk"

"No, there would be no baby if it weren't for you, and I don't mean that in the technical sense. I wouldn't have wanted this with anyone else."

"Me either"

"Then we'll take this next risk together?"

:"Yes, and the one that comes after this too."

"What's that?" She looks worried.

"Hell if I know." I'm rewarded with a smile. She's so pretty when she smiles.


	15. Lost and Found

Author's Note: For those who are reading Critical Path then you know in the last chapter Luka was painting Abby's toenails for her. I just thought I'd share with you that as much as I loved the image and can see Luka doing that, he wouldn't say it. I mean it, once I was "in character" Luka would not use the words painting and toenails in the same sentence. But then again, maybe it isn't the kind of thing Luka would do and tell. However, there is another kind of painting that Luka would in fact talk about - so here you go. Hope you enjoy. I'd love to hear in reviews what you all think of this idea, and what it might look like. 

Lost and Found

She's taking her bath. Every night now she goes up to soak. It helps with the swelling, and the sciatica, and she sleeps a little better. It gives me time to work on her surprise, her Christmas present. I'm painting Abby's portrait. It will be a surprise in more than one way. She doesn't know I paint. Hell, I didn't know that I could still do it. Haven't done it since the war. My father taught me when I was young. I'm not as good as he is, but I'm not bad. My style is different from his, sort of impressionist. I try to capture the soul, the essence rather than every detail. My mother wanted me to go to art school. Tata said no, I needed a way to actually make money. I'm glad, I don't have enough talent or drive. But I didn't realize just how much I missed it till now.

I always loved painting people, my father, mother, and my brother at first. I painted my father with his head thrown back laughing emphasizing his mouth, and the laugh lines around his eyes. I painted my mother playing piano, her face and the piano fuzzy, her hands in great detail. I painted Damir face front, serious, the crease of his forehead, the muscles of his folded forearms prominent. Later I painted Dani tenderly outlining her mouth, the curve of her lips. I gave it to her for her wedding gift. She cried when she saw it. She said it was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen. I told her she was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. Corny huh? We were like that, young, in love. I painted her pregnant, did a nude, it was beautiful, too bad she kept it in the closet said it made her feel "funny" to look a it. Too sensual I think. The babies, the children, I painted them too, all gone, destroyed in the war. But that's what kept them clear in my head for so long because I studied them for my paintings.

I keep our wedding picture in front of me while I work. Jing Mei took it in front of the restaurant. Abby's looking up at me her face slightly tilted away from the camera. She has a huge smile on her face, but it's her eyes I'm trying to capture. They have that glint they sometimes gets when she looks at me like I'm the best thing in the world. She's in love with me. I can see it. That's what I'm trying to capture. That's the hard part. . . Abby's eyes.

When I finish working I hide everything on the top shelf of the hall closet. It's safe, she can't reach it, and she wouldn't climb on a chair now. Height has its advantages. Besides after her bath, she never makes it downstairs anymore, too much work. So I paint for about half and hour and then I go up and help her out of the tub and into bed. I bring her tea, and I lie with her, sing them to sleep. When she falls asleep which doesn't usually take too long, I come back down and work some more.

I never thought I'd paint a portrait of another woman as long as I lived. Then again, I never thought I'd love another woman. Dani, she was my first love. But, Abby she's my last love. I know that. Even if the unthinkable happened and I lost her or lost us, I'd never muster the courage again. I'd become some watered down version of my father. Loving with my body, but not my heart or my soul. This is it, my last chance, my best chance, this woman, this love, this baby, this life. I've never wanted anything more. Is that a weird thing to say? You know I was so young last time, it never occurred to me to really think about what I was doing, I just did it. It felt right, I never questioned it beyond one long afternoon spent with a horse. Don't ask. I questioned this for years. I don't question it anymore because I answered all my questions not because I never bothered to ask. That has to be better. 

I'm even getting good at asking _he_r questions. Tonight before she fell asleep, I asked her if she would have chosen Carter to be her labor support if I couldn't do it. Never would have done that before. Would have not said a thing, let it eat at me wondering, worrying what it might mean if she had. So I just asked.

"You wouldn't have asked Carter, would you?"

"For back-up? No way." Her voice is sure. No bull shitting.

"I knew that. " I think about it before I say it so I know it's true which makes me smile. No bull shitting. 

Abby's smile looks back at me from under my brush. As I paint, I realize I've found the last bit of myself that I lost, and I'm giving it to Abby . . . .for Christmas.


	16. Me Thinks Thou Dost Project Too Much

"Me Thinks Thou Dost Project Too Much"

Abby and I have been going to childbirth classes. She found one with the focus on pain management techniques since we already know the nitty gritty. I don't mind the class itself, candlelight, music, holding Abby in different positions, massaging her back or hands or wherever . . .it's the closest I'm getting to regular sex these days. But I have to say that at first I hated going. Hated feeling so . . . different. I knew I was the only husband who had to consider the possibility of the birth touching off a slew of terrible memories. The only one who had to bury his two children. The only one who'd had to struggle to get to the place where he knew he could be there for his wife's birth. On the first night when the teacher had us introduce ourselves, Abby said it was "our first". She didn't lie, but of course it wasn't the whole truth. I was glad of it though. We didn't discuss it, but somehow to put it out there, to have opened the door to people asking, it would have been beyond what we could have done. It's not that I'm not used to telling people by now, it's telling those people who are preparing for their first baby who are so excited and wide-eyed that the worst possible thing sometimes happens in life. We couldn't do it, neither of us.

So I suppose it leaves me feeling a bit of a sham. But you know the more classes we go to, the more I begin to understand that while my experience isn't theirs; they all have their own histories, fears, problems. We're not so different. The teacher starts every class by having us go around and say what's new. The mothers complain, the fathers say as little as possible. But last week, Julie started crying because on the sonogram the baby's growing too slowly. They have to go back for more tests. And then there's Jennifer and Steve who missed a class because she had to be on bedrest when she had too many contractions. And they all ask questions about what might go wrong. All anyone wants is a healthy baby. Well, and an easy birth. I'm beginning to think in a strange way I have an edge. I mean, the worst possible thing has already happened to me. Anything short of that I can bear. If at the end of the day they're both alive not much else matters to me. It's oddly freeing.

*************************************************************

It's Abby's last shift till after the baby. The staff gives her a "surprise" shower. I still can't believe the sheer amount of crap they make for babies these days. We're accumulating a truly frightening collection. Carter comes up to us when it's over. Abby's on till twelve but I'm done. He wants to know if I want to grab a burger.

"Sure." I say; then I catch Abby's eyes. She doesn't look pleased. 

"What? I'll eat drop the shower stuff off at home and then come pick you up."

"No, it's fine" she looks at Carter. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

Carter stares back at her defiantly. I think I'm in for trouble.

So as we eat we talk about work, complain about Romano, the usual. Finally he spills it.

"I know this is none of my business, and I shouldn't stick my nose in. But I'm worried Luka, I have to say something."

"Okay. What are you worried about?"

"Abby told me she's decided on an unmedicated birth."

"Yes. That worries you?" I'm not quite sure what this has to do with Carter.

"It doesn't worry you?"

"Worry me? No. Should it?"

He looks bemused by my ignorance. "You do know what she's doing don't you?"

"What she's doing?" He's got that look again. Holy crap I knew Maggie came with Abby, but Carter? This is getting out of hand.

"Trying to prove she's as good as Danijela, to compete with her."

After all Abby and I have been through I want to burst out laughing, but I don't he's so serious. "Did she tell you that?"

"She denied it, but I think that it's coloring her decision."

I shake my head. "I don't think so". 

"Come on Luka, why else would she be so determined to torture herself like that?"

"Plenty of women give birth in the world with medication, I don't think they consider it torture. Maybe she really wants to experience this, she wants to feel herself having her baby."

"I don't understand the point of feeling pain you don't have to. What will it prove?"

"I don't think it proves anything. But if she's trying to prove something it's only to herself." God knows I'd give her an epidural tomorrow if she wanted one.

"I think maybe I understand a little bit more of where Abby's coming from on this. I know what it's like to compete with a ghost. It will make her miserable."

"Carter . . .."

"For years after my brother Bobby died, I tried to make it right for my parents. Tried to fill in for him, I never succeeded. I don't want that for Abby"

Suddenly it hits me. I understand why he and Abby didn't work. He projects so much onto her, he can't see through it to the woman in front of him. It almost makes me feel sorry for him, for them.

"I'm sorry about your brother, but Carter you've got this wrong. You don't need to protect Abby."

"That's what you think I'm doing?"

"I think that's what you've been trying to do for years. Tried to save her from me, from Maggie, from herself. You've got it twisted. Abby's the professional saver. She cut her teeth on it. Let's face it she's saved both our sorry asses. But finally she's learned to save the one person that matters most . . .herself. Don't underestimate her. I did once, never again."

"You think you've got this all figured out?"

"I think this time I'm on the inside and you're not." He looks like I've punched him in the gut. Damn "Sorry. Look Carter maybe I can explain this better. I understand why she wants to do this. I don't know what she's told you, but I had a depressive episode a couple of months ago. I know I could have medicated myself out of it. But I didn't want that. I wanted to climb out of it on my own. It was important to me. I wanted to feel my pain. I wanted to own it. And if Abby wants that, I respect it. Helping her with this, it's the only thing she's ever asked of me that's just for her, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let her down."

"She mentioned this could be rough for you, have you really thought that through? Are you really willing to do this damn the consequences?" 

"Damn the consequences to me? Yes. If her pain is my pain, then so be it. But I know that she and I will be the only ones in that room, no ghosts. I spent too much of my life with one foot in the grave. I had to make a choice, and I made it. I chose Abby and the baby. And she knows it."

"And she chose you"

Is that what this is really about? Well let's just take this head on. "Yes. Do you have a problem with that?"

He seems deflated by this . "No, not really. I .. . I don't know. Not in the way you're thinking."

"The way I'm thinking?" 

He's quiet for a long moment. "Look I meant everything I said when I came to dinner at your house. But when I got back to my apartment with Jing-Mei that night, it all seemed so .. .empty. . . . so flat. For the first time in a very long time I wanted to trade places with you. No I'm not proud about that. Seeing her pregnant, makes me want to protect her. I suppose, when I look at her sometimes, I wish things had turned out differently. That it was . . . .."

"Your baby?" My mouth feels dry. I try to imagine Abby pregnant with another man's child and me working beside her every day. I couldn't do it. I would have left County. Probably would have left Chicago. I'm beginning to understand Carter's behavior since he found out about the baby. He's actually handling it far better than I would have.

"That it was my _life_. Maybe not my life with. . .with Abby, but my life with someone. Or maybe it could have been my life with Abby if she'd stopped drinking when I asked. I don't know."

How he can even go there, "Jing-mei?"

"It's not going anywhere, it's not working."

It's my turn to be quiet for a few minutes. "It looks easy huh? Marriages, good marriages they always look so easy from the outside."

"But . . ."

"It's work Carter. It's making the decision every day of your life to do the work. It's not what you think."

"What I think?"

"That you fall in love, live happily ever after. It's not like that, not for Abby and me and it won't be that for you either when it happens. Stop looking for that. Look for someone who makes you want to work as hard as it takes. If you're hanging onto a figment. . .a . . .a . .dream, a ghost then I can tell you as someone well versed in it. It's a mistake. Let it go. Or you'll never be happy, not with anyone."

"The might have been's will kill you?"

"Eat you up inside anyway."

He nods. "So if I had worked harder with Abby . . ." I can't tell if he's joking or serious.

"Not _eveything's_ possible Carter." I deadpan. He doesn't seem to appreciate my joke. Moving on. "Maybe it _could_ have worked maybe not. But does it really matter now? Look you only think you saw Abby and I get married. What we said to each other that day was only the beginning. Whatever problems we have or will have, she's my wife, and she always will be. There are still doubts I live with, but that's not one of them."

"It must be nice to be that sure."

"It is . . .nice. You'll get there too." I search in my mind for the word I want in English, finally it comes, "Triumphant."

"What?"

"That's what she wants to feel Carter. It's what she's seen in those women who have their babies without medication. It's what Dani felt. I don't think she's felt it enough in her life."

"Triumphant?"

"Yes."

He shakes his head almost in disbelief. "You really do understand her don't you?"

"Yes."

"And I've been looking for the wrong things?"

"Possibly."

He sits back for a minute and considers me carefully. "Damn, you're smarter than you look."

When I finally make it back, I find Abby in the locker room surveying the loot. She looks so tired. I pull her into me and she leans her head in, the only two points we connect anymore when we hug are belly and her forehead and hands of course. 

"Come on I'm taking you home"

"No, I've got three more hours."

"Nope Kerry sprung you."

"Really"

"Yes, really" 

"My back aches." She moans

"You can spend all day tomorrow resting." I rub her back with my hands.

"You were right, I shouldn't have taken any more twelve hour shifts."

I shrug.

"You never say it do you?" She lifts her head to look at me.

"What?"

"I told you so."

"Never." My voice is firmer than I mean it to be.

"Why not?" Her forehead furrows.

"It's a long story, remind me and I'll tell you another time. Let's get you home to bed." It's not the kind of story for the hospital locker room.

As we're driving we talk about getting a Christmas tree I want a big one she's not convinced and then she asks me. "How was dinner?"

"Fine"

"And what did you talk about?" She bites her lip as she says this.

"Oh, the usual." I try to be evasive.

"If you were two normal men I'd assume that meant sports, but I know better. Cough it up."

'You already know don't you?" I can guess from her reaction when Carter invited me out.  


"He told you he thinks I'm competing with Dani." She says with a hint of disbelief.

"Yes."

"I can't believe him. And you told him?" She's angry now.

"That I thought he was wrong."

"That's it? You didn't throw something at him or better yet throw him."

"I'm a man of great restraint." She eyes me, but lets it pass.

"I hate when he does that to me . . . and to you."

"I think he meant well, he's worried about you, but I think he has things a little . . .jumbled. He . . . mentioned his brother."

"Bobby?" She seems confused at first, but then a light goes on. "So you think it's more about him than me."

"In a sense, maybe yes."

"Maybe Psych was your calling instead of the ER?"

"No thank you." I can't imagine anything worse. 

"You haven't asked me yet." She leans her head on the window.

"Asked you what?"

"If you were right."

"You mean about you and Dani? I didn't think I had to ask. I thought I knew. Okay, I'll bite. Are you competing with Dani?"

"No, not anymore." She looks out the window for a few minutes then says quietly. "Do you know when we were together the first time, I used to actually _fee_l her in the room with us?"

"No, I didn't know." I wish I had.

"That night when we got back together when you came over for dinner, remember?"  


"Of course." How could I forget that.

"We were doing the dishes, and I could feel her there with us, and then you kissed me and I dropped that plate or bowl whatever it was. She left the room in that moment and she hasn't been back since. I mean I've thought about her, wondered about you and her, but I haven't _felt_ her since then."

"Amazing," I shake my head.

"What?"

"Neither have I." 

She smiles at me. There's silence for a couple of minutes until she speaks again. "She's just an idea now, a part of your past, part of you, but not . . . .not part of us, does that make sense?"

"Yes."

"But . .you should know, if we were suddenly in the Twilight Zone and she showed up on our doorstep. I'd fight for you . . ..for us."

"You wouldn't have to."

"Why?" Her brow furrows.

"Because I'm not the same man, because that time has passed. The door is shut, I couldn't . . . .we couldn't go back." I never really thought about this, but as I say it I know it's true.

"Really?" Her eyes narrow and she looks at me intently. I glance over to catch her eye and nod.

"Really."

'Wow"

"So you want that epidural now?" I smile devilishly.

She laughs softly. "Not on your life."

"I didn't think so." I can't help it I have to ask. "Abby?"

"Yeah?"

"What the hell is a Twilight Zone?"


	17. The Devil's in the Details

Note: Some Adult Language. Thanks for the feedback and support. We're heading into the home stretch. Hope you're still enjoying it.

"The Devil's in the Details"

We sleep in to an absurd hour and then lounge around the rest of the morning. I rub her belly with cocoa butter, and breathe her in. She still smells flowery from her bath last night. But then again so do I. A small price to pay for marital bliss. After the paper and her crossword, I feel we should do something with the day. "Let's go get the Christmas tree."

"Today?"

"Yeah, with what's left of it."

"Oh my gosh look how late it is. . .get your lazy Croatian ass out of bed."

"My lazy ass? Who brought you tea and toast and peanut butter and fruit and those little sausage things and the chocolate?" I roll out of bed and start to get dressed.

"I'm gestating."

"Yeah, but what a baby elephant?" She looks me up and down and reaches out her hands, and I haul her out of the bed.

"Sometimes it feels that way. Just how big were you when you were born?"  


Uh-oh. "Oh you know, largeish"

"Largeish? That's not exactly a medical term." She's looking through the closet for something that still fits.

"I was a good size."

"Luka, how big?" She turns to look at me.

"Just . . well, ten pounds." Actually 10 lbs. 8 oz., but who's counting.

"TEN POUNDS? My God I was only 5 and a half you were almost twice my size"

"Still am on a good day."

"That's absurd I can't have a ten pound baby, How big were Jasna and Marko?" She dresses as she talks so I know she's not too worried.

"Oh, not too big, 8 1/2 and 9."

"Not too big."

"Abby the baby's probably not that big and what really counts is how big the head is."  


"And the shoulder."

"And the shoulders, but don't borrow trouble. Is the doctor worried?"

"No"

"Okay then it's fine. Don't be too clinical."

"It's hard not to be I was a labor nurse for a long time. I know what can ha . . ..". She cuts herself off awkward for me, still on egg shells, which frustrates me.

"You're healthy, the baby's healthy, you're getting good prenatal care, taking care of yourself, everything will be fine." My voice broaches no argument. I can tell by the way she looks at me that she knows it's my mantra.

"You're right." 

"We should do our homework." Time to change the subject.

"Our homework?"

"From class remember we're supposed to talk about the labor. Get on the same page."

"I was never big on homework."

"How'd you get through school?"

"Oh, I slept with the teachers." My face screws up and she laughs at me.

"I'm just kidding Luka".

"I knew that."

"Who'd have thought?"  


"What?"

"That it would be nice to have a jealous husband."

"Mmmm"

"Well a girl's got to take what she can get when she's almost as wide as she is tall."

"Yeah, well a girl would get a lot more if she asked." We move to opposite sides of the bed to make it up.

"I'll keep that in mind. So what details should we discuss?"

"You want me to encourage you to try something else if you ask for an epidural, right?

"Right."

"How many times do you want me to do that? This might be pretty quick or it might be a long haul. If you ask more than once, I don't want to push you unless you want me to, but I need to know if you end up getting an epidural . . . . . . you're not going to feel I let you down later. So we should consider the possibility."

"That I'll wimp out."

"No, that a block might be the right thing to do for you and the baby at some point."

"Sorry, you're right. How about three times, four if I'm very close."

Damn. Shit. Fuck. Fuckety Fuck Fuck Fuck. "Okay." Lucky I have a good poker face because the thought of Abby asking for something and me not wiping away the pain as fast as I can is really tough.  


"That's it, okay?"

"It's not about what I want it's about what you want. There's not much I wouldn't do for you . ."

"Good because you may need to insert yourself between me and a well meaning anesthesiologist." She says it as a joke so I decide to go with it.

"Well, I have a mean right hook."

"I bet." She's smiling, but the smile fads and then I can tell she wants to say something, but stops herself. Then opens her mouth again, but stops just short.

"What?" I encourage. She shakes her head no. "Come on what?"

She looks me square in the eyes. "Brian?"

I know what she's asking the minute the word is out. I look at her gauging what to say. I shift my weight and my gaze. I wasn't even sure she knew. I meet her eyes. "Yes."

She nods. It's like she's filing the information away, something she's known but not really known. Something her husband is capable of for better or worse. Then she surprises me. "I'm going to make some lunch. Want some?" She turns and walks out heading downstairs.

Shit. I follow. "You're angry."

"No, I'm not angry"

"Upset then. Disappointed in me." I grab her arm and stop her on the landing halfway down

She won't meet my eye. "No. I'm disappointed in _me_."

"You? Why?"

"Because I'm glad." She looks at me now.

I want to give her some kind of explanation. "I didn't want him to hurt you again, I thought if he knew someone was looking out for you . .. .no that's not entirely true, I wanted to hurt him. He could have ra . .. " I can't say the word. I leave her there and descend the rest of the way into the living room. I sink into a chair running my hands through my hair.

"Luka . . . "She's looking at me from across the room

"Once I knew you were okay. I went to the bar you said he hung out at. And I . . . .hurt him, not too much, but enough. He deserved worse." I swallow hard. There's nothing left to say. I don't know what I feel, I'm not sure what she feels.

"You did what you thought was right. And you gave me a place to stay when God knows you didn't owe me anything.. . . " The words are a struggle. " I've never been very good at letting myself count on another person . . . needing someone hasn't really worked out very well for me. .. ." She walks over to me as she talks her words heavy in the air. I pull her close lean my head on her belly. She puts her fingers under my chin and tilts my head till I look at her "until now". It's just a whisper.

I nod and kiss her belly, feel her hands on my shoulders. It's nice to feel absolved.

Finally she breaks the silence "Why don't you say it?"

"Say what?"

"I told you so"

"You want to do this now?"

"You don't?"

"No, we can." I take a deep breath, and I tell her what I've never told anyone before in my life. "When I was growing up, my brother Damir loved to give me advice. And I loved to do the exact opposite. Of course most of the time he was right, and he wasn't afraid to let me know." Boy this is going to be harder than I thought. "Sit next to me." She does.

"You don't have to do this. I didn't know it was so . . ."

"No, it's okay, I want to. About a week before the siege began, he calls me, tells me to send Dani and the kids . . . to stay . . . with him and Tatijana." I hear her take a breath but she says nothing. I'm looking at my hands, can't look at her not yet. "I told him no, we were staying together . . .that I'd take care of them . . .we'd be fine." I turn to look at her now. I can see that another piece of the puzzle has fallen into place for her. And I can see her sorrow for me. I take her hand. Still she says nothing. 

"So when I finally saw Damir . . .later. . after everything. I was terrified. I knew if he said it, if he even thought it, our relationship . . . .it would be . . .over. . . dead. Another loss. But he didn't. He didn't say it . . . . . never even hinted at it, and for Damir that's amazing restraint. I've never said it since. God knows I never will."

"It wasn't your fault, you couldn't have known. You do know that don't you?"

"Yes and no. I know it, I still don't always feel it. But it's different now then before. It's not as raw. It's not holding me hostage. The past can do that if you don't let it go. But if I'm overprotective of you, of the baby . . "

"I'll remind you." She starts twisting my wedding band, nervous. There's something she wants to say, so I'm just quiet and finally she starts. "When I had the abortion, I was absolutely certain I was doing the right thing . .the only thing really. But months later . . .I was working in OB and as I was writing out the nametags for a baby . . . .I wrote the date. . .and I realized it was . . . would have been . . .my due date. And I started crying out of no where. I had to leave the room, and I ended up locked in the bathroom crying for what must have been an hour. Crazy. It was the only time I ever cried about it. . . ..I think it was the right thing that I did . . . anyway if I hadn't . . . .I suppose I probably wouldn't be having this baby now . . . . ." Suddenly she stops and I can see recognition pass through her eyes as she's looking at me. "Oh God, Luka, I never thought of it like that . . .if . . . .I'm so sor" I put my fingers over her mouth to stop the word.

"Don't Abby, don't ever apologize to me, not for this, not for our baby." She nods. 

I remember when she first told me about the abortion before we got back together. She seemed to expect my condemnation, was surprised even when it didn't come. I told her the abortion had nothing to do with me. I suppose at that time it didn't. Now I see it has everything to do with me, with us. We both made choices we thought were right, and both choices cost us a family. She can't articulate it, but I understand why she's telling me this now. She'd never say it, I'm sure she thinks it's too paltry in comparison to my loss, and born out of her own weakness in a way mine wasn't. But it's another connection, another way we understand each other, another tie that binds. Ironic the things that unlock the doors into one another. I guess really the doors were there all the time, we just didn't know how to open them. Hell for awhile we didn't even know how to find them. Lost souls, a cliché perhaps but true. We were feeling our way in the dark in more ways than one, and now that the lights are on there's more to see then either of us ever imagined, or maybe even dared to hope. It's as of our mutual but separate destruction had to happen. What's that bird? The Phoenix? Our love is like a goddamn phoenix rising out of the ashes of what we lost or abandoned. My eyes are brimming but I can see well enough to know that hers are too. I take her hand and bring it to my lips.

Her face alters from sorrow to surprise, and her breathing changes. "What?" She doesn't answer for a minute

"A contraction, so that's what they feel like, I always wondered."

"Strong?"

"No, not too bad. Don't look at me like that. I'm not in labor, I just had one contraction."

"That's how it starts Abby, with one."

"But it could be nothing let's just wait and see. Actually, I wouldn't mind getting it over with."

"You ready then?"

"Yes, you?"

"Yes."

"Liar"

"Not as big as you"

"Watch the fat jokes." I start to protest, but she just shakes her head and laughs.

"Thank you." she says.

"For what?"

"For telling me."

"Yeah, Dr. Phil would be proud."

"You really have strange television habits, Martha, I tried to warn you about her, Dr. Phil what's next?"

"Mr. Rogers?"


	18. The Piano

The Piano

Abby and I have parted ways. She's home, I work, two worlds. It's strange. For as long as we've known each other we've worked together except when I went to Bosnia briefly. We haven't talked too much about what she wants to do after the baby. I told her she can do whatever she wants, work or not. We'll do fine with what I earn. We don't need her income, lucky that way. She didn't seem sure. I sort of think, once she has the baby she'll want to spend the time at home. Maybe if she doesn't want to I will. But I don't think our bank account would appreciate that, or more like the mortgage company. We could juggle shifts, but I'd miss her if we did that. By the way, it did turn out to be just a contraction, no labor, no baby, not yet. And, we never did make it out to get that tree.

It's funny, life is like a book, you read a chapter, and for awhile that's all there is, but it ends, and then you have to start a new one. I feel like that's what we're doing now. We're in this gap between life as we've known it and life as we will know it, life as parents. These last days or weeks or however much time we have. It's all an unknown, inevitable, but mysterious. Mother, father, that will be us, terrifying and wonderful all at the same time. Speaking of terrifying and wonderful, my father's been calling a lot lately. I think he's a little worried about me still maybe, and then there's his grandchild and Abby to consider. I think Abby spends as much time as I do with him on the phone now. They seem to understand each other. Maybe she understands him more than I do, or maybe it's easier to appreciate someone else's parent. Case in point, tonight's phone call . . . .

"Luka. How are you, how's Abby?"

"Fine, we're both fine."

"Little Ivica getting big?"

"The baby is growing just fine."

"So, I have a Christmas present I want to send you."

"That's nice Tata, you were actually planning to get it in the mail before Christmas this year?"

"The holidays are a busy time, don't be ungrateful. This is special, I'll need you to pay for the shipping."

"Why? Is it big?"

"Big enough, your Mama's piano. No room in my new place."

"What? You've got to be kidding you don't ship a piano from Croatia to Chicago, I could buy one here for less. Give it to Damir"

"He won't have it."

"What do you mean he won't have it? I won't have it."

"I mean, you know your brother and he won't have it and that's that."

"And what I'm a push over?"

"You have a soft heart, your brother on the other hand. . .. "

"Tatijana?"

"She defers to Damir you know that, I get no help from her." He goes on about how Damir tries to tell him what to do, interferes in his life. This goes on for awhile till he comes round to the piano again.

"Tata, I don't want it, I can't play. It will just gather dust."

"Abby?"

"I don't think so".

"The baby will play."

"I don't want to saddle the baby with that expectation."

"Oh, so you had terrible parents who saddled you with expectations."

"That's not what I said."

"That's what you meant."

"No. . .. . Tata?" He's upset.

"It was your mother's Luka, she loved it. If you won't take it I'll have to sell it to someone she didn't love. . . .your Mama's piano."

"It's absurd for me to take it, you understand that don't you? Of course you do." He says nothing. "I'll think about it, but I'm not promising you anything." I say good-bye, he grunts, and that's it we hang up. Damn him. I'm angry that he's asking this of me. It seems so unreasonable in so many ways.

I tell Abby what he said, that I don't want it and that he's upset. She says we should take the piano. It means too much to Ivica to let him down. Great, two against one. She's been spending too much time on the phone with the old man. I go up to bed to think. I don't want to talk; I'm a tangle of emotions. I have to sort them before I can even think of talking.

My mother's piano. She played so beautifully, tried to teach Damir and I. We were terrible. Oh, I became relatively proficient with the notes, simple songs, but I couldn't really play with heart, couldn't bring it to life. The last time I played I was 13. My mother sat listening, gently correcting when I made a mistake and trying to encourage me.

"That was very good Luka, you're improving."

"No, I'm no good, it doesn't sound like when you play."

"You just need to put your heart into it, like when you paint. You're not trying."

"I am trying. You're not a good teacher." She looks so hurt. "I'm sorry Mama. You are good, I just can't do it."

"You're doing fine."

"No, I don't want to play anymore, I can't make it sound right. I'm not good enough."

"You play fine, but if you'd rather not . . . .I won't make you."

"No more."

"Alright Luka, no more."

It was the first time I ever let down a woman that I loved. Unfortunately it wasn't the last. I can't stand the thought of looking at the thing every day, the symbol of my failure. I didn't have the heart to put into my playing. My mother called me on it. Just like . .. .

"You're married to a ghost." She called me on it too, my heart wasn't there, not really, not all the way. For some women, playing the right notes just isn't enough.

And then she's lying next to me, telling me she wants the damn thing for her birthday. I tell her how my playing disappointed my mother, and that I don't want it. She thinks it will break Tata's heart to sell it and maybe mine. "Do it for me." She says. So, I can either have a painful reminder of how I let down someone I loved in my house to look at everyday, or I can disappoint two people that I love. Nice. She tells me she's going to rent a movie for me to watch, "Pretty Woman." What this has to do with a piano, I don't know. She won't tell me, but that ends the conversation, and she falls asleep.

I toss and turn for awhile. "Do it for me." How can I not? How can I say no to Tata and to Abby? Impossible.

A light flicks on in my mind. My addiction, my guilt, it didn't start when Dani and the kids died. It started long before that. I'm sure before Abby ever took her first sip of alcohol. My mother called me her golden boy. I was the favored son. And I knew it. And Damir knew it. It wasn't an easy place to be. I wanted to be who she wanted me to be, but I couldn't, not all the time. That's not easy to know. A kid's supposed to mess up, right? Well, it was complicated, and then she got sick and it got more complicated. Let's just say the monkey landed on my back pretty early in life. So how do I do it? How do I look at that piano in my house? How does Abby do it? How does she pass the bars and the liquor stores, kiss me when I've had the occasional drink? I watch her sleep, Damn she's strong, stronger than me I think. Kicked the booze, kicked the smoking, kicked the enabling, kicked the fear . .me I can't even kick the guilt. Bad attitude Kovac, try again.

I need to think about this a different way. I look over at Abby, curled around her pillows, hair splayed. Maybe self-awareness is contagious, because suddenly it hits me. What if, instead of seeing the piano as a sign of failure, an icon of guilt, I see it as a reminder, that in life as in music, playing the right notes doesn't mean much if there's no heart, no soul. Actions, choices these should come from love, not from guilt or fear. That's the thing isn't it? No guilt, no fear - maybe I need a t-shirt., huh? Or maybe the piano could remind me. Eventually my mind gives up and I fall asleep.

She rents the movie. I don't know if you've seen it, except for some very long legs, it's pretty crappy, but there's this scene with a piano. Julia Roberts sits on the piano in front of Richard Gere, and well he takes her on the piano. I get the sales pitch. It's slightly appalling, the idea of having Abby on my mother's piano, but very sexy. She really is hitting below the belt. Get it? Below the belt. But I take the bait, and tell her I'll have Tata send it. If she really wants it, far be it from me to say no. A man should please his wife when he can. Sometimes in life you have to make the hard choice, be big about things. I was already kind of thinking we should do it. Get the piano I mean, for historical familial reasons of course. Maybe the baby will be musically inclined. You're not buying any of this are you?

I come home from work to hear Abby say into the phone, "Go boil your head, old man."

I sneak up, and kiss her on the neck, whispering in her ear, "Ivica?"

"Who else?" she mouths

"Give him to me." She hands the phone over. "So Abby told you we'll take the piano?"

"It's right that the piano ends up with her. Abby's a lot like your mother."

"Like Mama? How?"

"Both smart and sexy enough to have their husbands by their balls, but too kind to abuse the power. . . . too much."

"That's not exactly . . . .. You?"

"Yes, and if you're smart your children will be grown before they understand this about you too."

"It's a partnership, Tata"

"Yeah? You tell me how she convinced you."

"She made a lot of good points, appealed to my sense of family. Abby can be . . . . persuasive."

"Is that what they're calling it these days?"

"Tata . . ."

"The apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

I try to protest, but he's laughing so hard he couldn't hear me anyway. I roll my eyes, and Abby looks at me. "What?" she asks. I hold out the phone so she can hear his cackle.

"You've entered an unholy alliance." I shake my head at her.

Finally, he has to take a breath, I don't think I can listen to him gloat about this tonight. "I have to go, it's getting late. Call me with the shipping cost and I'll wire you the funds. Okay?"

"Okay. Hey Luka, go make love to your wife for me."

"There is something very wrong about you saying that to me."

I hang up and turn to Abby. "He's very pleased with himself . . . and with you." This pleases her, I can tell, although she shrugs it off. Damn, she is pretty, and soft, and well those breasts. . . . .maybe. I lean in, press my forehead to hers. "There's something else my father asked me to give to you."

"Not another instrument."

"Not exactly."

I run my hands down her. She pulls back and looks at me. "He didn't"

"It's Ivica, of course he did."

She looks slightly scandalized. "There's something really wrong about him saying that to you."

Now it's my turn to laugh. And you know what they say, he who laughs last . . . . .has a crazy man for a father.


	19. Green Trees

Extra points to those who get the luby Christmas word play in the title! A little swearing, a little romance, and the painting, hope you enjoy it.

"Green Trees"

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. For most of my life Christmas has either been idyllic, perfect, a dream, or a nightmare day, too empty, too dark, too . . I don't know what. This one I want to be perfect. We can pick out a tree, shop for decorations, maybe get some of those little gold balls that I remember from childhood, or maybe a bunch of different ones and lights, lots of lights. Last year we both had to work, kept it real low key. Probably a good idea, our first Christmas together, we weren't ready for the works. But this year . . .

On my day off I tell her we better really go get the tree this time and the decorations. And she tells me no. Just flat out no. She'll do it or I can do it, but she won't do it with me. What the hell? I'm angry, hurt, she won't budge. "Christmas means something different to you. I'm sorry Luka . . . I can't explain it any better than that."

And she doesn't, that's it. "Fine. I'll get the tree, you can get the decorations. I'll go shovel the driveway. " I grab my coat and head out to do just that.

Damn nothing is ever simple is it? But come to think of it, I doubt my reaction when she first brought up the idea of having a baby was what she had expected or hoped for. And then of course those long troubled days of my retreat from life, from her, that couldn't have been part of her plan. Maybe she's right. Maybe there's no rush to bridge every divide, to figure out every detail, to emesh ourselves in every way possible. I suppose Christmas need neither be perfect or painful. Maybe this year it's best to let it be what it is. Whatever happens this year, it will be different next year, baby's first Christmas. Oh my God.

Anyway, I go shopping for the tree while she heads out for the decorations. In an act of defiance or perhaps of nostalgia, I buy the biggest damn tree I can find. When I was a boy, it was always Tata's goal to buy the tallest tree possible. One year we had to keep it outside as we couldn't get it in the house, and Tata wouldn't cut an inch off of it.

On Christmas morning my aunts would always come and spend the day cooking, encouraging my mother to entertain them on the piano to keep her out of the kitchen and spare her feelings. We didn't have many presents, but so many cousins, we didn't notice. And then after eating a huge meal, Mama would play the piano and we'd all sing. It was perfect. Having Dani and then the kids only made it better. We took them on the sleigh rides that had ended after I was too old, their little faces pink with the cold, laughing, clapping . . . . .

Stop it Kovac. Memories are a fine thing to have, but expectations will choke you. Whatever my memories are, they aren't hers. I can only imagine what Christmas was like for Abby. I don't ask. I don't know why. I guess I don't really want to hear the disappointment, the hurt, whatever's there. And then there's the 'don't ask, don't tell' vibe I'm getting from her. Maybe next year, there's time. After all in life the journey means as much as the destination, possibly more.

Later, she helps me get the tree into position, and brings in the ornaments. Get this they aren't really ornaments at all, they're baby socks., over a hundred of them. I tell her she's her mother's daughter, but damn she's smart, it's perfect. No ghost of Christmas past for us, but a reminder of Christmas future, and maybe that's what we needed anyway.

Christmas day we don't do much of anything. Talk on the phone to my family and hers, lounge around, go for a walk. Around 3:00 she disappears into the kitchen and tells me to stay out. I can hear her Croatian language tapes playing, her voice trying to repeat the words, occasional cursing in English or Croatian.. Her accent really is terrible, but I love her for it, for trying. She got the cuss words from me, not the tapes of course. I taught her one night when she couldn't sleep. We lay in the dark swearing in two languages and laughing. Some time after 6:00 she ushers me into the dining room, and there's quite a spread. I'm surprised.

"You hate cooking."

She shrugs, "Ivica told me you're used to big dinners on Christmas."

"You didn't have to . . .."

"I know, that's the best part."

"Duck?"

"Yes, my grandmother used to make it."

"And fish?"  
  
"Ivica gave me the recipe - Grandma Ivana's he said. Does it look right?"  
  
"Except yours is missing the head, it's perfect."

"Liar."

"No, Abby it's perfect. Just perfect."

So we feast although she can't eat much at one sitting anymore. Then we watch "It's a Wonderful Life". It's sappy, but it always gets me in the end. Lucky bastard gets a second chance. Oh and Jimmy Stewart does okay too.

When it's done I tell her to close her eyes.

"Why?" She looks at me suspiciously.

"Because I have a surprise, close your eyes."

"Dammit, Luka we said no gifts." She's angry, no I mean she's really angry.

"It's not a gift, it's a surprise."

"I don't like surprises."  
  
"Close your eyes."

"Luka . . ." She's going to give me shit, I can tell.

"Abby, you surprised me with dinner. I made this, it's a surprise. Close your damn eyes."

She looks at me for a minute, and then closes her eyes.

"Good, no peeking." I go to the closet and take down the painting wrapped in gold, and I put it in front of her. "Okay, open your eyes." She does and stares down at it.

"You made it?"

"Yes."

"It doesn't look like baby booties."

"I don't knit."  
  
"No, I didn't think so."

"And, it's not for the baby, it's for you."  
  
"And you made it?"

"Yes, why is that so hard to believe."

"I don't know, you don't seem . . . .craftsy to me."

"I'm not craftsy, open it up." She does, and she stares down at the painting, down at herself.

"Oh, my God." I can't read her expression.  
  
"You don't like it"

"No, no, It's beautiful. My eyes . . . .I'm . . . .you think I'm beautiful." The words are quiet I have to strain to hear them.

"This surprises you?"  
  
"Yes . . . .no . . . I mean . . . . you painted me."

She doesn't have any more words, and I don't need them anyway. She climbs awkwardly into my lap straddling me, her firm belly pressed into mine, staring at me like she hasn't seen me in a long time. She brushes the hair from my forehead. Then we kiss, gently at first becoming more fevered. Her hands pull off my shirt. We make love. At times awkward, at times overwhelmingly sensual. Her body on high alert, some sensations too exquisite for her, challenging me to readjust, to learn her body all over again. After, we lie wrapped in a blanket, bodies damp, a little breathless, splayed awkwardly on the sofa.

I run my hand over her belly absently. "I'll have to paint you more often."

"I didn't even know you knew how."

"I know. I thought . . .I thought I would never want to paint again."

"You painted them."

"Yes."

"Will you . .. ."

"Yes, I'll paint the baby. I think I'll paint you together, I've never done that before."

"No?"

"Only one person at a time, but I'd like to paint you together."

"I'd like that."

"Change is good."

"You think?"

"I know." I feel her slip away from me then. Her body stiffens in my arms. Somehow I know where she's gone. She's thinking about me painting Dani, the children. Maybe she wonders if there was a Christmas where I gave a painting to Dami, made love with her, her belly full with Marko or Jasna. There wasn't. I want to pull her back to me. But I can't think of what to say. In the end, I blurt out awkwardly, "So art makes you feel sexy?" Crap, I can't believe I just said that. She tilts her head to look up at me with disbelief on her face. I shrug, smile nervously. She puts her head back on my chest, I feel her relax, come back to the moment, back to me, back to us.

"Art . . .and drama." Her voice is flirtatious now.

'Drama?"

"Mmmmm especially Hamlet in Croatian."

"That turned you on? You didn't seem too impressed."

"I thought it best to play it cool."

"Not let me know you were impressed?"  
  
"Not let you know I was horny as hell." I burst out laughing. It's a good thing to marry someone who makes you laugh.

"Well, I'll keep it mind for future use, when you're not so tired."

"So, what in five years?"

"Something like that."

"That's depressing. My God, I'm going to be someone's mother."

"Yes."

"We're having a baby."

"Apparently."

"It's not the labor that scares me you know, it's what comes after."

"I know. I don't think I've told you, but I'm proud of you."

"For?"

"For wanting to feel the birth. I'm glad. I really am. I mean don't get me wrong, if you need an epidural or whatever, it's fine with me too. But, I think it's right that we do this together, feel this together. It hasn't been easy for me to think . . . .about you hurting . . . .to feel responsible for getting you through. But it will be a good beginning, for us, for our baby."

"I spent a lifetime running from the tough stuff. I don't want to run anymore."

"Stand and fight."

"Yes."

"I've got your back."

"That's the best part."

"Actually there are other parts that I prefer . .. "

"Funny, very funny."

"Merry Christmas?"

"Best one yet."

"If you say that every year for the next 20, I'll be a happy man."

"No pressure then."

"It's not pressure, it's a personal challenge."

"You like challenges?"

"I married you didn't I? "


	20. The Epiphany

"The Epiphany"

We took the tree down on Epiphany Sunday, the day the wise men brought the gifts to baby Jesus. We used to celebrate that growing up too, King's Day. I didn't even consider broaching the subject of celebrating yet another holiday with Abby. I'm not that stupid. So I spent the day putting an inordinate amount of baby socks in a box, hauling out the tree and vacuuming up pine needles.

New Year's passed quietly. I worked early on the first, so we didn't bother trying to stay up till midnight. If a good night's sleep was our goal, our parents thwarted us with late night calls, Maggie apologetic for waking us, Ivica incomprehensible with drink. I'm starting to really worry about the old man.

Her birthday's coming, I told her I wanted to take her out but she hemmed and hawed, doesn't want to celebrate. What else is new? Her pregnancy seems to be weighing on her mind as well as her body. She's quieter than usual, pensive, thoughtful. I think she feels trapped in the house by the weather or maybe just by inertia. Sometimes I wish I was. Work feels like a trap, not an escape, same patients, same complaints, same paperwork, no Abby.

On the eve of Abby's birthday I sit in the break room and open the sack she handed to me as I headed out the door for a noon to twelve shift.

"What's this?"

"Lunch or dinner, whatever."

"You made my lunch?"

"Yes, but don't expect slippers and a pipe when you get home."

"What?"  
  
"Never mind, see you tonight." She stood on tiptoes and gave me a kiss.

Carter comes in, sits down and starts eating an apple. I'm taking containers out of the bag, there's seven of the things.

"Big dinner." he says absently.

"Abby gave it to me."

"Abby made dinner? Must be love."

Opening containers one by one, I start laughing and shaking my head.

"What?"  
  
"She's nesting."

"What?"  
  
"She cleaned out the refrigerator, I think this is everything that didn't smell or look like a science experiment."

"Women really do that?"

"Oh yes. I expect I'll have a spotless kitchen when I get home."

"So she's doing well?"

"She's great." None of your damn business.

"Luka, about before, I'm sorry. I was thinking about what you said . . maybe you have a point."

"Yeah?"  
  
"I don't want to lose my friendship with Abby, and I don't know I thought we were starting to be maybe something like friends until, things . . .got . . complicated again."

"Then Carter, keep it simple, be her friend." And I won't have to hurt you. "You want some of this stuff?"

"Did you make it or did Abby?"

"Taste it first then you can guess, it'll be a good game." And it is. We actually enjoy ourselves, until . .he can't resist, really I think he just can't help himself. I'm heading back to work, hand on the door when he says it.

"You do know Abby's birthday is tomorrow?"

I freeze, I turn slowly to look at him. You did not just say that to me.

His eyes grow wide at the expression on my face. "Wrong this to say."

I say nothing just shake my head, make a fist, release, make a fist, release. Then I turn and leave the room. You know there is such a thing as justifiable homicide.

I sleep in the next morning, find the bed empty when I wake and shower before I head down to find her. She's in the kitchen looking at a pile of broken eggs on the floor and crying, really crying. I pull her into my arms, and don't say a thing. I feel her hands clutch the back of my shirt, like she's hanging on for dear life, and she cries more. I've learned better than to ask when these tears come either before or after the baby. You get your head chopped off one time, and you learn. When she quiets, I guide her up the stairs and into our bed, and she curls up on her side. I fold myself in behind her and stroke her hair, and I sing their lullaby until she falls asleep. Happy Birthday sweetheart.

As I lie there watching her sleep, watching her belly shift all on it's own accord, God women's bodies are amazing, I think about Jasna and Marko. And you know what, they're just memories now. Good memories, sweet memories, but the pain, the anguish, the guilt, it's gone. Really gone, purged through pain. I think about Abby, about her labor, another chance to purge. I hope that somehow it purges my past for her as well as her own. I don't want her to spend her life thinking about me with Danijela. I can't imagine spending my life thinking of her with Carter, what a nightmare. It's done for me. The only thing that seems left is for it to be done for her. I think about our baby. I'm overwhelmed with longing and hope and yes even joy.

After a time I get up and go downstairs, clean the kitchen floor. What to do for Abby's birthday? At least I don't have to think of a present. The piano is on its way, for better or worse, and for a ridiculous sum of money. In the end, I go out to our favorite market. I buy the chicken soup she loves, and I get a tiny chocolate cake and candles, and the ingredients to make her dinner at home tonight. While I'm waiting at the bakery, a woman with a little girl comes over to look at the cookies. She must be three, with long blond curls and big blue eyes. I can't take my eyes off her. Her mother buys her a cookie, and she chortles with delight. It makes me laugh too. She eyes me suspiciously.

"Are you getting a cookie too?"

"No, a birthday cake, it's my wife's birthday today."

"My birthday's next month."

"How old will you be?

"Four."

"Wow a big girl." She smiles proudly, and then runs back to her mother, hugs her around her legs and hides from me. My arms ache.

She's still sleeping when I get back, so I get the picnic basket ready. Finally, I decide to get her up, or she'll never sleep tonight.

I kiss her on the forehead. "Hey, sleeping beauty, time to wake up."

"How long did I sleep?"

"Long enough, time to celebrate, here put these on." I bring her warm clothes, she doesn't even ask why.

We drive to the lake. We take a walk, she still doesn't have much to say. The icy blue of the water seems to match her mood. When we get back to the car, I set up lunch, and we eat out of the back.

I decide to break the silence. "Not much for holiday's are you?"  
  
"I guess they feel more like minefields to me than celebrations."

I can relate to that. "So how am I doing, have a managed to avoid detonating anything?"

"You'd know it if you had. How'd you get so good navigating them?"  
  
"Practice."  
  
"Literally or figuratively."

"Both"

"I can't imagine you as a soldier."

"It was either fight or hide." I suppose it always comes down to that in life.

"Do you want to talk about it?"  
  
"Not on your birthday."  
  
"No, I guess not, but ever?"

"Maybe if things ever get dull between us, it would liven it up I'm sure."

"You think things will get dull?"

"Ivica, Maggie, baby, you, me . . .short answer, no. You ready for your cake?"

"Only if it's chocolate"

"Of course it is, do you take me for a fool?"

"God I hate birthdays."  
  
"You'll always be younger than me."

"Not that much, I'm not exactly a trophy wife."

"A what?"

"Young, firm, built, big hair, little brain."

"Who wants one of those?"

"A lot of men."

"You're more interesting."

"Thanks, I think."

I light her candle and sing 'Happy Birthday' in Croatian, and tell her she'll have to get used to that. She makes a wish which she won't tell, naturally, and blows out her candle. After we eat she seems more relaxed.

"Part of me just wants to get this whole thing over with, and part of me wants to keep this baby inside forever."

"Sounds about right. If you want some help jump starting things just let me know. Prostaglandins, oxytocin, I can help you out." I want to josh her out of her mood.

"That has to be the worst come on I've ever heard."

"The most clinical anyway."

"I'll keep the offer in mind. Just how are you going to survive after the birth?"

"Seriously Abby, I want you to take all the time you need after. You come to me when you're ready." I catch her eye so she knows I mean it. Then I wink. " I can wait .. . two, three days, whatever you need."

"Two or three months is more likely, and then only on the weekends and only if you're lucky."

"I am lucky, very, very lucky." She blushes and we grin at each other like we're sixteen and on our first date. God, life is good. And birthdays aren't the worst thing either.


	21. Marking Time

"Marking Time"

A couple of days after her birthday, Carter and I are working a shift together, graveyard. We're in trauma one, gang banger with a bullet in his heart on his way up to the OR, doesn't look good. We snap off our gloves and he looks at me.

"So did Abby mention I stopped by yesterday?"

"No, but I knew you did."

"How?"  
  
"Flowers." In a bucket, who keeps flowers in a bucket? Abby. I was torn between wanting her to tell me he came by and not wanting to discuss Carter with her at all. In the end, we both opted for silence.

"Could've been Susan."

"Susan would have brought chocolate."

"Right. Coffee?" I nod and we start walking. "So, she didn't tell you then?"

Shit. "Tell me what?"  
  
"That I thought her birthday was yesterday."

"You knew her birthday wasn't yesterday."

"I know, but I was hoping she'd tell you that I had the date wrong, and then I wouldn't have to apologize again. You know actions speaking louder and all that."

"So you told her you forgot her birthday to make up for being a jerk to me? Wouldn't it be easier to just stop acting like an ass?"

"You would think so."

"What's going on Carter?"

"Okay, honestly, this dance we're doing, it's getting pretty old. I was hoping we could reach a new understanding."

"I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong idea."

"What?"  
  
"I'm a happily married man."

"You know something, you're funnier than you look."

"That has to be good."

"I think it is. I can't believe she didn't tell you, don't you guys talk?"

"Well, we've had more on our minds than you." We walk into the lounge. Carter pours the coffee.

"Touche. Then I'll tell you. I told her the truth, I love her and I always will, but I'm not in love with her, maybe I never was, I don't know."

"I see." As confident as I am in Abby, I can't say I'm not relieved. I take the cup he offers me, and we sit at the table.

"It's a good place for both of us, for all of us I hope. Speaking of good places, I guess she didn't tell you my other news either?"

"Which is?"

"Jing Mei's moving in, I asked her last night."

"Really? I thought you two were . . . ." I wave my hand.  
  
"Yeah, I know, but I thought about what you said. I suppose I've always thought love was supposed to be easy. That everything would just fall into place. But when I stepped back, I realized I wanted to try. I missed her when we were apart. So I've been trying and so has she, and well . . . .it's working, it's good, no actually, it's great."

"I'm glad for you Carter, really I am."

"Me too. Hey, I like your painting. Her eyes, her expression, really well done, although I can't say the look was familiar." Thank God, I could kiss him, but I nod instead. "You're good. What are you doing in this hell hole?"

"Gotta earn money, baby on the way." Not to mention a piano. "Besides, I'm not that good, you should see what my father can do."

"Abby showed me some of his stuff too, I thought maybe Gamma should take a look, maybe she'd want to sponsor him."

"Give him money? No don't do that. It would make him miserable."

"Why?"

"I don't know, trust me it would."

"So you ready for the birth."

"Ready, excited, terrified, all of it."

"Let me know if I can help. I want to be her friend; I want to be your friend. I can be an ass, but I have my good side too."

It seems there should be a really good come back for that line, but I let it go. "Okay Carter. Let's see how it goes."

"Okay."

The next day Ivica calls. He interrupts Abby and I trying to work out a 'throwing in the natural childbirth towel' signal. You know a word she can say that means "forget everything we've ever discussed and get me an anesthesiologist stat".

"Luka"

"Tata"

"No baby? Soon huh?"

"I suppose anytime now really."

"You ready?"

"Yes."

"Sure?"

"Yes." I've been wanting to reassure him, maybe now's the time. "I want this, I need this, I deserve this and so does she. We're good, we're going to be good."

"I know. You're a strong man."

"Sometimes I wonder."

"No, strong, stronger than me. I never found the courage to do it again, take the risk. But you know I didn't understand, really understand the price for that. Safety, she doesn't come cheap."

"No, I guess not. There's so many times, I almost lost this, almost threw it away, or she did. I'm lucky she's so strong."

"She's a good woman. She'll see you through the bad times. And there will be those, you know that."

"Yes, but it's not scary any more, the bad times. As long as I don't lose them, I'll be ok."

"The memories still bother you?"

"No, not like they did. I guess, I don't need them anymore, Dani, the kids. I love them, I always will, but they're memories now, not ghosts. And the guilt, the pain it's not there. I don't have the time for it. I have a wife and baby to take care of, and that's what I'm going to do."

"Good boy, call me when I'm a grandfather, don't forget, whatever time."

"I won't forget, get some sleep."

"Give Abby a . . "

"Don't even go there.".

"I was going to say kiss, what? You have such a dirty mind."

"Good night Tata."

"Good night son."

So I walk back in the room and I smile, I know the code word, and so does she. We look each other and say it together. "Ivica." Then I figure what the hell, now's the time to clear the air. I tell Abby I'll do something with Carter's flowers the bucket isn't really working for them.

"How did you know they were from Carter?"

"Who else? They're in a bucket; that and we talked."

"I should have told you he stopped by."

I shrug. "I should have asked about the flowers."

"Maybe I was kind of hoping you would. It was no big deal, he even forgot the day, came a day late."

"He didn't forget."

"Yes, he did."

"No, he reminded me it was your birthday the day before."

"Ooooo. Then why . . . .?"

"Well, I wondered that myself. But I think . .. I think he was trying to make things right with me, you know, take a step back."

"That almost makes sense."

"He told me he was going to stop being stupid about all this, maybe we need to stop being stupid too. I know he's your friend, I think maybe . . . maybe he could be mine. But there have got to be limits. I will not spend the rest of my life justifying us to him."

"I think he gets it; we had a good talk. You know Luka, I can be his friend because that's all there is. He's my friend, you're that and everything else."

"I like the sound of that."

"Don't let it go to your head."

"Not with you around to keep me in line."

"It's a dirty job . . ."

"But somebody's gotta do me." She's laughing so hard she can't talk. "What?" Really, what did I say?

I'm inside her, she's under me and we're moving in perfect rhythm, made for each other. She arches her back, her eyes dark with passion, her mouth a perfect O of pleasure. She's so small beneath me, she feels so good, it's been so long, too long. Her moan is guttural, deep . . "Luka". I feel like I'm going to explode, a human time bomb.

But then her voice changes, it's cool and crisp and light. "Hey, wake up, it's eight thirty, Luka." Damn, shit, fuck. I reach out for her, eyes still closed, she's real, but she's dressed and next to me, not naked and underneath me. Damn, shit, fuck. I pretend to have trouble waking up to give myself time to er collect myself. I'm working another night shift catching some sleep before I have to go in. Pratt's out, hurt his back, I didn't ask how, I really don't think I want to know.

I roll over and pull her onto me. She puts her head on my shoulder, I wonder if my heart is pounding. We talk about nothing and then about the baby. Then I say it, I say it because I wonder if I'm running out of time and she needs to hear it before the baby comes. I say it because I need to hear it again myself. I say it because I want it to be true for both of us. "You know, don't you, that there'll be no one there except us, you and me."

She doesn't seem sure, but I am and I tell her that. At least I'm sure about myself. I wonder who'll be in that room with her. She doesn't seem able to answer. I don't know if it's me she's unsure of, or herself.

In the end she doesn't really answer, but she says, "I love you." I'll take it. I pull her into me even closer.

"I know." I groan. "God I don't want to go to work." All I want in life is here on this bed, and I don't want to leave it.

"Kerry will have your ass."

"At least someone will want it." She laughs then.

"Come on Luka, you'll be late, I let you sleep as long as I could. We need Kerry to be flexible once the baby comes, don't piss her off now."

"I have more care to stay, than will to go."

"Someone's gotta work around here, quoting Shakespeare won't pay the rent."  
  
"We'll live on love."

"I don't think the better colleges are taking that currency."

"You want me to go?"

"No, of course not, but .. . ."

"Then I'll stay."

"Luka . . . " I'm filled with longing for her, not just physically but pretty much in every way you can want another human being. She twists her head to look at me and I pull her to me and kiss her deeply on the mouth. She looks surprised. I better get out of here, before I act in a manner not befitting a gentleman. I kiss the top of her head, and I force myself out of bed. "You've only got time for a two minute shower." She calls after me. Just as well, it's gonna be a cold one anyway. "Wake me if I'm asleep when you get home."

I stop short. "Why?" She raises her eyebrows. "Don't tease."

"I thought you liked that."

"Only when I know where it's headed."

"You know, wake me when you get home."

"I can't go."

"You have to go, don't use up Kerry's good will, there's not enough of it to waste."

Damn, shit, fuck. "You're right. Guess I have to be responsible now, father and all that."

"And all that."

My hair is damp when I pull on my coat, hand on the door, ready to step out into the cold, the dark.

"It will be just us." She's behind me. I turn around. "It's been hard for me Luka, not to feel second best. It's not you, it's . . it's me. I never did make it to Disneyland."

"What?"

"Long story, I'll tell you later. But it will be just us. Sometimes I forget I don't do that anymore."

"What?"

"Wait for the other shoe to drop."

I look around, look at her. "This is all I want."

"I know. Now get your ass out of here."

"I love you."

"I know that too."

Our eyes lock. I want her in my arms. I'm just going to work, I don't know why this parting is so difficult, it's not like I haven't left her hundreds of times before. I reach out, rub her arm.

"See you in the morning." She nods.

"Drive safely, it might be icy." She says straightening my collar. I nod.

God help me, I don't want to leave her . .. but I do. There's a blast of cold air when I open the door, and step out into the dark.


	22. Showtime

So here it is, the beginning of the end, if I haven't lost you all. Thank you to my official readers who have hung in through thick and thin, and also my three "unofficial" reader/reviewers Hungrytiger, Girlintheyankeehat and Anything but ordinary. I appreciate your appreciation.

"Showtime"

The softest, blackest hair, big eyes, tiny perfect eyebrows, feathery lashes . . .my daughter. She's resting on my chest, my breathing taking her up and down like her first merry go round ride. I'm in love.

Abby's asleep; she needs it. Her breathing soft, face no longer contorted with effort and pain, so beautiful. She was no less beautiful in labor, her eyes soft sometimes, wide at others, her forehead crinkled in concentration, her hand clutching mine, the fine beads of sweat on her upper lip near the end. The sheer effort, the willing to become mother. It was amazing to watch her. I've never loved anyone more. Never. Didn't think I'd say that not in this life, but it's true. Her hand clutching mine, her pain, my pain, her effort, my effort, it was amazing. It was the best thing we'll ever do together, I'm sure of it, the most in love we'll ever be.

In hindsight, I guess my reluctance to leave her that night made perfect sense. It was our last evening as just a couple not a family. I was on edge all that night after I left her. So distracted I missed my exit and had to double back through the city. I couldn't shake the feeling. Her words, my words, I wanted to make it done for her, over, as if someone can finish something for another person. You see, she's done the work on her own past, figured out how to make it work with the present, the future. But mine? Î wasn't sure. I wasn't sure if she was still worried I'd lose it during her labor. Or if I didn't lose it, where I'd be, who I'd wish she was . . . . That's not what I wanted for her, for us. Driving through those streets I saw a group of homeless men huddled around a fire, a fire in a garbage can. I had this image pop into my mind from my childhood. On October 31st , the eve of All Soul's Day, my Baka Ivana would always light a fire, stoke it all night, to keep away the evil spirits. It was in that moment I knew what I had to do before her labor. The last gesture I could make.

Susan and I were working on a pedestrian versus a SUV, guess who won, when I got the news.

"Chest tube's in."

"I can't see the cords Luka"

"Fiberoptic?"

"Yeah, damn. No wait, there got it"

"Sat's are up, okay hang another unit of O -neg and let's get him upstairs.."

Some desk clerk I've never seen before sticks his head in. "Is one of you Dr. Kovac?"

"I am."

"You? But you're so old."

"Excuse me?"  
  
"Well I thought you'd be an intern. How old is she?"  
  
"What are you talking about?" Where do they find these people?  
  
"Your mother."  
  
"My mother?" I find myself oddly longing for Jerry or even Frank.

"She just called."  
  
"My mother's dead."  
  
"Stupid prank call then."  
  
"Someone called pretending to be my mother?" Is it just me or does this make no sense?

"Yeah crazy, she said she was having a baby."

"What?" My voice sounds strange even to my ears.

"Someone claiming to be your mother said she was in labor."  
  
"She said she was my mother?"

"She said she was Mrs. Kovac, I asked if it was your wife, but she said no your mother."

I think I sort of scared the guy, grabbed his jacket, got in his face. "When did she call? When did it start? How far apart are the contractions? Did her bag break? What did she say?"

"Whoa, she didn't say much, she just sounded kinda grumpy."

"Jesus." I look at Susan.

"What are you looking at me for get the hell out of here. Haleh call Carter tell him he's on."

"Carter just left a couple of hours ago." I remind her.

She looks at me. "You're on call for Abby, he's on call for you. Now move your ass, and tell Abby . . . "

But I don't hear what I'm supposed to tell Abby because I'm down the hall and out the doors fumbling in my pocket for keys, the cold forgotten. I drop the keys as I try to unlock the car door. "Shit." I crack my head on the rear view mirror when I snap up too quickly. "Ow, damnit." My hands are shaking. Okay, pull yourself together man, this is the last thing Abby needs. So I take a deep breath, and then I manage to get in the car. I get on the highway before I fumble for the cell phone. It's busy, who the hell is she talking to? 911. Dear God, my foot weighs down on the gas pedal, and I wish for the Viper.

The lights are on, no ambulance in front of the house. I run in find her on the sofa and take a deep breath. She's fine. She looks at me.

"Where's your coat?" I don't remember what we say but I do remember wondering why we were talking about my coat.

I kneel in front of her take her hand. "How far apart?

"Between fifteen and twenty minutes as far as I can tell."  
  
"Fifteen or twenty?" I take a deep breath, easy, there's time, probably plenty of it.

The pain is getting worse still not too bad. I tell her I have to do something. She asks me to wait till the next contraction ends. She handles it beautifully. I go upstairs and find my papers. The reams and reams I wrote during those dark days when I broke, my memories, my pain. Whatever I need to remember about Jasna and Marko, it's not on these pages. It never was. What I really need to know, to remember, it's in my heart. I take them to the fireplace, crumple them one by one, strike a match, and I burn them. She watches me and says nothing.

I say it for both of us, "Done". Because there's no way I'm going to have her worry about me for one instant during this labor. I won't have it.

She still says nothing, but that's okay, I've done what I can do. She puts out her hand, another contraction. I take her hand rest the other on her belly.

"Strong" She doesn't argue.

"Bag intact?"

"No, it broke around 4:00."

"Then we should go in, get things checked out."

I get her coat, and pull her into me for just a moment. I stroke her hair, and damn if I don't kiss her like I would have if I'd had the chance to wake her when I got home.

"Showtime" I say.


	23. Shooting the Moon

So here it is, the last chapter. I'm feeling relieved and sad as well. Although truth to tell, I have an idea for an epilogue that I may add later if it comes out well. Thanks to everyone who has taken the time to read this story. Thanks to Mrs. Eyre for sharing her story and her characters with me. Thanks to Goran whose subtle acting is the reason I have any insight into the character of Luka (if indeed I actually do). It was really interesting to try to write from the POV of a guy, I don't know how well I did, but it was fun to try. Although, I must admit that being in Luka's head is not always the easiest place to be and there again, I must take my hat off to Goran. It's rather a long chapter, I hope you enjoy it. By the way if anyone doesn't know, the term 'shooting the moon', comes from the card game Hearts where the goal is to score as few points as possible. However, if you have a very bad hand you can try to get all the points and then everyone else has to take that as their score and you win; not only the hand, but often the game by 'shooting the moon'. Also the line Luka ascribes to a Croatian midwife actually belongs to an American one, Ina May Gaskin. My sincere thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed, it means a great deal.

Finally, I dedicate this chapter to Katalyn and Kate, both made this story much better than (not then) it would have been, and I thank them both for their time and their friendship.

"Shooting the Moon"

I have to stop the car a couple of times on the way in to the hospital while she has a contraction; the car moving bothers her. When we're almost there I ask, "Who were you on the phone with anyway?"

"When?"  
  
"I tried to call while I was driving home."

"Oh, Maggie."

"You called Maggie?"  
  
"Yeah."

"I'm glad."  
  
"Who did you think I called?"  
  
"Honestly?" She nods. "My first thought was 911."

"Sorry, second thought?"  
  
"Didn't have any, all the blood rushed from my brain into my right foot."

"Broke the sound barrier?"  
  
"If I could have."

"You're nervous."

"No."

"You're tapping."

"What?"  
  
"Your fingers, you tap your fingers when you're nervous." She nods her head towards my hand where my fingers tap a steady beat on the steering wheel.

"Well, maybe just a little nervous." I don't want to dwell on that, and I'm curious, so I ask, "What did you mean before when you said you never made it to Disneyland?"

"Oh that. Short version okay?' I nod. "When I was young, my mother told Eric and me she was going to take us to Disneyland. So we packed our things, got on the plane. And in the middle of the flight, Maggie flipped out, she lost it, she had to be restrained next to me, she screamed the whole way. I had to take care of Eric, and try to deal with her. What was supposed to be a great adventure . . . . . was a nightmare."

"I'm sorry." I really am.

"No don't, I've spent enough time feeling sorry, I don't want to feel sorry anymore. Another contraction." She holds out her hand, I pull off to the side and take it. The contractions are longer, stronger now. I'm glad we're almost there.

"The front doors should be open now. You want to go that way or through the ER?"

"Not the ER, I don't want to see anyone."

"You look great, you're doing great."

"Luka, you are a horrible liar."

We park and I grab her bag, then put out a hand and haul her out of the car. She stops as soon as she stands. I know what the look means already, another contraction. She leans her head into my chest, breathes, rocks her head and her hips back and forth a bit. Then looks up at me.

"You want a wheelchair?"  
  
"Not on your life, you know how many women I've kicked out of wheelchairs and sent walking?"  
  
We make it up to OB, and the nurse that checks us in is a little too perky for Abby. She rolls her eyes at me when the nurse can't see. Luckily she's off in an hour. She does the whole check-in routine, vitals, vaginal exam. I can't believe Abby's already 4 cm. She' s doing so well, if only she can stop herself from strangling this nurse, we'll be fine. The contractions have slowed down a bit since she's been in bed.

The next nurse, Veronica, knows Abby from before. Abby visibly relaxes and I'm grateful. Veronica's competent and takes charge; she tells me I should eat before things pick up, I put her off, and we go over the birth plan. No drugs, no epidural, no whale songs either. Abby reassures Veronica that she'll tell her the "surrender word" if I have to leave. I wince. Dammit Abby. I can't believe she said that, I can't fucking believe it.

Veronica's surprised. "You're on?" My forgotten lab coat gave me away as an ER doc.

"No I'll be here." I almost think Abby's going to say something more, but she has another contraction. Veronica tells me to go eat, this might be my last chance. Frankly, I think it's good if I go lick my wounds in private anyway. So I head to the cafeteria to see if I actually can eat. The coffee I can drink, but the eggs taste like cardboard. I do what I can. I can't believe she still thinks I'd have to walk out on her. I can't believe it. Then I remember what she told me. "I never did get to Disneyland." It's not about me; it's not even about what I can make her believe. It's about her protecting herself from the disappointment. She can't believe 100%, because then where is she if it doesn't happen. And at the end of the day, she needs to be okay for this baby, not hating her husband for not coming through. It's not about me. It's about her and the baby. I'm not Maggie, I'm not checking out again, but she won't know that till she sees it. Maybe I'll spend the rest of my life proving myself to Abby, I suppose there are worse ways to spend a life. Or maybe one day, she'll get it. But today there are bigger fish to cook. Her baggage may be packed up neatly, but that doesn't mean it doesn't get carried around sometimes. Same is true for me I suppose. So I get another cup of coffee and I head upstairs, Abby's making it to Disneyland today whether she believes it or not.

She's in good spirits when I get back, good enough to nag me about not eating enough and drinking coffee on an empty stomach. The contractions have slowed down a bit. She tells me she doesn't want Pitocin unless it's absolutely necessary. Okay, I say, I've got your back. She's fine, the baby's fine, we're in Chicago, we're having a baby. Okay.

So we walk the halls on and off, pausing for the contractions. She gets in and out of the shower a couple of times to relax. The contractions are a little easier for her in there. She reaches for my hand with every contraction, every one. So far her breathing is working that and swaying. It's almost like a hula, but I don't tell her that. I'm not sure she even knows she's doing it and the last thing she needs is to feel self-conscious.

Veronica brings in this big ball for Abby to try sitting on. She gets positioned and I can rub her shoulders and back, and she kind of bounces with the contractions.

"It reminds me of a toy I had when I was a kid."

"A big ball?"

"It was called a hippety hop and it had a handle so you could bounce along on it."

"Maybe we should see if any of the other moms want to race you down the hall. What do you think?"

"Sure we'll get the nurses to take bets, easy cash, I was pretty fast in my day."

"On the hippety hop?"

"What else?"

It's noon and Coburn comes over from her office on her lunch break. Abby's 6 cm now which means 2 cm in the last 5 hours, and no change since Veronica examined her an hour ago. Coburn frowns, "Things are going kind of slow Abby. We could start a little Pitocin, speed things up a bit for you."

Another contraction comes on and Abby gives me a look that says get to work. So I say, "Abby really wants to avoid that if she can. She's afebrile, fetal heart tones are reactive in the 140's, no decels, she 's only been ruptured 8 hours and she's strep negative. Why don't you check in another two hours, if there's no progress we'll talk."

Coburn looks at me and raises on eyebrow. I look right back, steady as a rock.

"Abby?" she questions, looking for a chink in our armor.

"What he said."

Coburn clucks her tongue.

"We like living on the edge." I deadpan.

"We're rebels." Abby says with equal seriousness.

"Rebels . . .with a Volvo." I add, and Abby starts to laugh, which makes me laugh.

Coburn looks at us like a couple of recalcitrant teenagers.

"Okay, rebels without a clue, two hours, see you then." And she walks out muttering "That's the last doctor's wife I'm taking as a patient."

"Thanks." Abby looks at me.

I shrug, "No problem, it was easier than I thought. I wasn't looking forward to decking her."

"I wouldn't try it." Veronica chimes in. "She's a black belt, I'm more likely to be picking you up off the floor than her."

When Veronica leaves Abby says she's worried that things won't pick-up. "If they don't, we could always try messing around." I offer.

She looks skeptical.

"What? I'm offering you endless foreplay, women love that don't they?"

"When they're not in pain, maybe."

"A midwife back home once told me the same energy that gets the baby in, gets the baby out."

"A likely story."

"It's true, test the theory if you doubt me." I lean in real close, nuzzle her neck, run my hand over her belly and breasts and up finally framing her face. She blushes and looks a little flustered. And has a contraction. "See, it works"

"What if Veronica walks in? Let's walk instead."

"Some rebel you turned out to be." I put out my hands and haul her out of bed.

When we get back into the room, she asks me to call Maggie out in the hall. I don't think she wants to hear my end of this conversation, and she really doesn't want to have a conversation with Maggie herself at this moment.

"Maggie? It's Luka."

"Luka, thank God how is she, has she had the baby?"

"No, not yet, she's doing great. She's 6 cm, everything's fine. She's holding up like a champ"

"And you, you're okay?"

"I'm fine. I'll call you when the baby's here." I want to get back to Abby."

"Maybe I should just hop on the bus, I could be there to help when you go home from the hospital."

Uh-oh. "Maggie I know how much you want to be here, to help . . .but I think Abby and I need some time alone . . .to get used to things. I'm taking 2 weeks off. I'll tell Abby you want to come, and you two can work out when. I'm sure she'll need the help more once I have to work."

"Oh, you're right. I should wait, I just get so . .. excited. I want to help Luka, I really do. I want to be there for my little girl"

"I know, Maggie. She knows you**'**re here, and we'll call when the baby comes. I should get back to her okay?"

"Yes, yes, you should be with Abby. Give her my love." I feel two inches tall.

"I'll call again."

"Bye Luka"

I grab some more juice for Abby and some crap out of the vending machine to tide me over and head back into the room.

When I walk in, I find Carter sitting on the bed holding Abby's hand. She takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly in traditional end of the contraction fashion. He looks at me and places her hand carefully back on the bed. "Did I miss anything?" I ask. For just a second, when I first see them, a wave of hurt crashes over me reminiscent of the first time I saw them, almost three years ago now, at work together and understood that they were . . .. together. He gets up, and we make small talk then I open the door and usher him out. I don't want him here, really I don't. But you know as soon as he leaves, he's gone. There's no part of him hanging around, not for her, and not for me. And in that moment with that understanding, I take him on. I mean I understood when I married Abby that I was getting Maggie in the deal. And I knew in that particular life drama I would never be more than a supporting player - it's Abby's show, which is okay with me. I accept that. But Carter - I've resisted taking him on. Clearly he's not going away. He doesn't want to, and she doesn't want him to. He's her friend, there's a bond, maybe it's the addict/sponsor thing. I don't know. It doesn't matter in the end. He'll keep showing up in our life for better or worse. Really I'm the one to make it better or make it worse. It's okay if he drops in because he's the one that leaves, and I'm the one that stays. In this drama I'm the leading man. She's mine to keep or lose .. . .maybe she always was.

If she can take on Ivica and my past, then I can take on Maggie . . . . and Carter.

Things are picking up and the breathing isn't enough at the peaks any more. She starts to moan a little. I stroke her hair with my free hand and tell her she's beautiful and how great she's doing, but I slip and it comes out in Croatian.

When the next contraction comes she says, "Talk to me"

I start, but she says "Not in English. . . .in Croatian. . ."

So I do. I don't know what to say. So I go through poems I remember, prayers, even a little Hamlet. A strange hodge podge, but it works for her. Abby's fine, the baby's fine, we're in Chicago, having our baby.

Veronica comes in to check on us. She gives me a funny look.

I shrug. "Better than whale songs"

"I like it, I'm thinking of taping you and selling copies, it seems to be working for Abby.

Abby chimes in "Just give us a share in the profits, we've got a college fund to start."

"College fund? We have a piano fund to start."

Co-workers straggle in off and on throughout the day, Susan at the end of her shift, Chen at the start of hers. When Frank and Jerry wander up, I know it's time to put my foot down. So I post a 'thanks for caring, but leave us the hell alone' sign on the door. No, it doesn't really say that, but that's what it means.

Coburn's delayed getting back to see Abby. It's three. This time when she checks her she smiles 8 cm. Good enough. '

"Keep up the good work rebels." She smiles, and she's gone. But Abby's losing her good humor. During a contraction she drops my hand to cover my mouth, I guess the Croatian isn't cutting it anymore. Her feet are cold. I rub them between my hands in between the contractions coming one after the other like never ending waves. She moans and when she's out of bed she sways and clutches my shirt till I think she'll tear it in two. Her eyes . . . she looks at me and they're so round, so wide, so earnest and searching. I just look back, helpless, helpless. God, Abby, if I could do this for you I would. I would. If pleasure can be vicarious, so can pain, so can pain. Abby's fine. The baby's fine. We're in Chicago. We're having our baby.

She tells me I should go get something to eat. I don't need to eat. I need to be with my wife. I stay.

Finally she has one that goes on and on she begins to cry she wants to go home. I want to make it all go away. But that's not what she wants. She wants help. "Look at me Abby. Open your eyes look at me." She's with me then, and I count her down taking her through the contraction that finally releases her. She's sweating with exertion. I push her hair back, kiss her forehead. I'm okay. I can do this. I can do this. I can do this. Abby is fine .. .. .. the baby is fine . . . . . I'm in Chicago. . . . . . we're having our baby. I can . . . do this . . . I can do . . .this.

-----------------

It's almost four in the afternoon. The snow starts to fall, the sky dark as if it were much later. She's been at this 12 hours. She's tired, so tired. She has another contraction. This time her moan changes, it becomes guttural and deep. I know what it means. I remember.

"I'll get Veronica"

"Don't go." I never planned on it. I had planned on sticking my head out the door and yelling, but a call button is probably the better way to go. So I reach out push it as she grabs me in a vise grips so tight I can't breathe. I feel like she's drowning and taking me under and I can't catch my breath. It scares me. "Abby .. . .Abby I can't breathe you have to let go." But she doesn't till Veronica comes up behind us and takes her hands counting her down, bringing her back. I take a deep breath. Abby's okay, the baby's okay, we're in Chicago. The baby is coming. Veronica checks her time to start pushing. "I'll let Dr. Coburn know."

In the break between contractions, which in nature's wisdom, have spaced out to every 4 or 5 minutes now, she looks at me with eyes so loving and trusting, and a little, just a little afraid. I'm afraid too, but it's not the cold dread, it's not the panic of loss and the pain of despair. It's the understanding that our lives will be forever altered. It's familiar, even welcome. I know she's not afraid of the pain or the effort. Her fear is the same as mine. We're both scared that in becoming parents we'll lose "us", and we've worked so damn hard for there to even be an "us". Her fear, my fear it's the same as it would be even if I'd never been a father before, as if I'd never lost it all. I see in her eyes that she knows this too. This makes me smile. The fear goes, and I just feel happy, lucky. We're going to be okay. We can do this. With the next contraction Abby lets out a roar of power and the baby starts the journey out into the world. Abby's fine, the baby's fine, we're in Chicago, we're having a baby.

Veronica holds one leg and I hold the other. She pushes with a power that leaves me in awe. We fall into a rhythm over the next hour. She pushes then I wipe her forehead, give her a mouth full of ice chips in an endless cycle. After every push she finds my face, my eyes and my hand till the next wave pulls her away from me.

Finally the baby's crowning, a circle of black, black hair; Abby throws her head back and let's out a bellow of pain.

"Look at me" Dr. Coburn commands. "Just one more push Abby, just a little so you won't tear." And with the next contraction the forehead and then the eyes, plump cheeks and a rosebud mouth emerges. Abby's panting quivering with the effort. I feel like I'm frozen, unable to move, unable to do anything, but stare fixedly at the scene in front of me, quivering too.

"Okay Abby give me a push for the shoulders"

She does and nothing happens. Shit.

"Abby come on again give me what you have and Dr. Coburn nods to Veronica who pulls back on Abby's leg while dropping the head of the bed, she tells me to do the same, and I do, numb . . . nothing but numb.

Abby gives a mighty push and the baby slides forward and in an instant Dr. Coburn is holding a very red, very angry, very beautiful baby girl. "It's a girl. Congratulations Abby, Luka. She looks good, and big . . very big."

A daughter. I have a daughter. Suddenly the room is swimming which confuses me briefly till I realize that I'm crying and I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand so that I can see Abby and Rosa. Rosa's resting on Abby's tummy, she's stopped crying now that she's warm and can look up at her mother. Big, dark eyes gazing peacefully at her mother. Abby's staring at her a look of sheer amazement on her face.

"I did it . . .I did it. . . I can't believe . . .we did it." She's triumphant. She looks at me, and I kiss her on the mouth. I'm rewarded with a smile of such radiance that I think it's the last thing I'll think of on this earth. My eyes fill all over again.

Veronica dries the baby, puts a stethoscope on Rosa's chest and announces, "Apgars 8/9 she looks great. Congratulations Mom and Dad."

Mom and Dad . . . . . .. . . . . ..

Veronica pulls a stool over for me and I get in close, both Abby and I just staring and staring at Rosa, as if under a spell. Finally, I begin to sing, her song, her lullaby. Her eyes shift from Abby's face to find mine, in search of the familiar voice. And the room swims for the third time.

We have our few moments of peace, and then things get busy. Abby nurses Rosa who seemed to know what she's doing. Abby's cleaned up and checked out. Finally she eats, and so do I Veronica sneaking me some food so I don't have to leave. Veronica takes the opportunity to check out the baby. Rosa gets weighed and comes in at a whopping 9lbs 6oz. Abby's jaw nearly drops. "How is that possible?"

I go with Rosa to the nursery for her first bath and Abby gets moved to a postpartum room. When I wheel Rosa back down to Abby's room, she puts out her arms for Rosa and reminds me I have some calls to make. "Hall?" I ask. Looking at them, I'm reluctant to leave. Abby looks, can it be? Happy. I can't believe either of us almost settled for less.

"Please?"

"No problem." So I make my obligatory calls to the ER where I hear whoops in the background and to Maggie who cries, and I promise Abby will call her tomorrow after she gets some rest. Then to Damir and Tatijana, she cries and I can almost hear Damir's smile over the phone.

Then I make my last call.

"Tata?"

"Luka?" And the moment I hear his voice it happens, something releases inside me, I start crying, not just a little, but a lot.

"Luka . . Luka what's wrong Abby? The baby?" His voice is panicked. Fuck, I scared him.

"No, no everything's . . .great. . .they're wonderful . . .Tata, I have a little girl."

Now he's crying. We sit there sobbing like two old women for a few minutes.

"Her name?"

"Rosa Margaret"

"Rosa? Perfect. A rose in the middle of winter. Perfect. You . . .you did okay?"

"I did it. I was fine. I am fine."

"I knew you could, I knew it. And Abby?"

"She's great, she was so amazing through it all. You would have been so proud of her."

"Of course I'm proud of her. What's the baby look like?"

"Like a Kovac, lots of thick black hair."

"Poor thing. Maybe she'll look more like her mother when she grows, if she's lucky"

"She's beautiful."

"I know she is. I'm going to paint her tonight."

"You've never seen her."

"She's my winter rose, I know what she looks like. Can Abby talk?"

"Tomorrow"

"Of course, tell her I love her."

"I will"

"Tell her you love her."

"I will"

"Okay call me tomorrow."

"Okay Tata."

"And Luka take care of yourself get something to eat, get some sleep . . promise me?"

"Yes Tata, I will, and I'll talk to you tomorrow"

"A rose, a little winter rose." He's muttering it to himself as he hangs up the phone. You see where I get my sentimentality.

When I get back, to my disappointment Abby's asleep, Rosa's out too. I whisper Ivica's message and my own to Abby. Then I sit down watching my daughter's face.

Veronica comes in and whispers to me when she sees them sleeping, " I'm off now, tell Abby I'll stick my head in tomorrow."

"Sure"

"I'm really glad I was there. More and more I'm just a technician, the mom's are numb and the dad's are watching football or whatever. It was nice to watch you two, and to feel . . . .needed."

"You were. Thanks for all your help."

"Sure." She turns to go. "Oh, wait I almost forgot there's someone waiting outside to see you."

"Okay, thanks."

I come out to find Carter standing at the nurse's station.

"You still on? " I ask surprised.

"Just finished my own shift."

"Thanks again for covering for me. Look Abby's asleep but I'm sure tomorrow she'll want to see you."

"I didn't come to see Abby, I came to celebrate with the new father."' He holds up a bottle of champagne. " I was wondering if you brought those cigars along?"

"I did." Abby packed them eyeing me and telling me I had to smoke one for her.

"You want to give them a try, get some air, take a break?" Well they are both sleeping, and if I'm going to take Carter on than I may as well start now. There's no time like the present.

Carter and I go up to the roof. The snow has stopped and it's still but cold, I'm glad I went down to the ER to get my coat even if it meant getting questioned by the curious and hugged by the delighted. I've got my bottle of Champagne and box of cigars. We both light up and I take the occasional swig from the bottle.

"So how's it feel?" he asks.

"What? To be a father?"

He nods.

"It's wonderful, wonderful . . . "

"So I've been doing some thinking"

"Yeah?" Please, no.

"About Deb"

"Oh?" Yes."How did you know, I mean really know you wanted to marry Abby?"

I consider this for a minute, take another drag and a long swig, and then I scratch my head, and turn to look him in the eye. He takes a drag from his cigar and starts to cough.

"I saw her with you."

He looks at me for a second. Then we both start laughing, louder and longer then we should, but hell we've both been up over 24 hours, and the cigars are heady.

"Well, then, you kind of owe me," he says.

I shake my head "You slept with my wife, I owe you squat"

He looks rather sheepish at this, and I regret saying it.

"Don't worry Carter, I've made my peace." After another long drink, I decide to do him a favor.

"Did Jing-Mei ever tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"Well, I guess it doesn't matter now, water under the bridge and all."

"What?" he's perplexed.

"Well, when you were with Abby, we . . . saw each other for about a month." He's frowning, and I'm trying so hard not to smile.

"Don't worry it was just, you know, physical, not worth mentioning"

And then don't I wish I had a camera, his face is priceless. I can't hold my resolve, I throw my head back and laugh which makes his face twist up even more, and it's a vicious cycle because I can't stop laughing long enough to get out the words.

"I'm kidding Carter, just kidding. You'd better marry her." And I howl with laughter again. This time he joins in.

"You're such an ass." I shrug, when he's right, he's right.

"Now," I say, "we're even"

He grins broadly. "Just keep your hands off my woman."

I shake my head. "Don't worry, I'm ruined for anyone else."

Carter mutters under his breath, and it sounds like, " That makes two of you then."

Although that's the last place I want to go, I can't say it's the worst news I've ever heard either.

I better go."

"Heading home for some sleep?"

"Naw, I've got a cot in Abby's room, she might need the moral support, the first couple of nights can be tough."

"Don't want to rest up?"

"I don't sleep so well without Abby anyway."

He gets a strange look on his face now. " I'm not sure many people have what you two do."

Ah I see, he's sentimental . . . and mistaken. "No Carter, people have it. They just don't appreciate it as much as we do."

He considers this and then I add, "Go home to Jing- Mei and make love to her like it's the last time you'll ever get to touch her."

He nods and I go downstairs to my wife and my baby.

Abby's asleep, Rosa's little body on her chest, the dark head tucked under Abby's chin just beginning to squirm. I lift her gently and cradle my baby girl. She's so beautiful, so perfect. Sometimes life deals you a shitty hand of cards. There's nothing you can do about that. What matters in the end is how you play them. Abby and I, we put our crap hands together, and we shot the moon. And the one thing I'm sure of in life is if we have to, we'll do it again.


	24. Epilogue

This is a horribly delayed update, my apologies. Season 11 Luka killed my muse, but not surprisingly recent events have resurrected it. I dedicate this to all those who knew Luka and Abby's story was not over – and I don't mean this story. . . .

Epilogue: One

One, my baby girl is turning one today. It's been quite a year, although I don't think anything could match the intensity of that first year Abby and I had together. It was tough going at first. Abby had to get used to the grind of motherhood, I had to get used to being a father again. But we did it, got through it, had fun for the most part.

I picked my father up at the airport yesterday. Of course, I couldn't meet him at the gate, security being what it is now, my eyes roamed the crowds of people. Finally, I saw him lugging his suitcase, looking for me.

"Tata"

"Luka . . so many godamned people I feel like I'm in a sardine in a can." He hugs me so tight I feel like I'm in a sardine can too.

"Good flight?"

"Lousy, but you look good." He pats my face.

"Come on I've got the car. This your only bag?"

"Yes, I believe in traveling light. Where's Abby and Rosa?"

"Abby's mother is here she's helping Abby get the food ready for tomorrow, and Rosa should be napping now."

"So, I get to meet the infamous Maggie?"

"You do and watch yourself, Abby's nervous about it."

"Nervous, nervous why?"

"Maybe she's worried it will make you look at her differently to meet her mother, I don't know."

"Maggie's Maggie, Abby's Abby, two different things."

"I know. Just be nice."

"I'm always nice."

We start driving down the freeway he takes a cigarette out. "You can't smoke that thing in here."

"What? Why not? I couldn't smoke on the plane."

"Not in my car either. Rosa doesn't need the fumes and neither does Abby."

"She didn't start again?"

"No and don't you dare offer her one. I plan on growing old with her, not without her."

"Didn't I ever tell you my theory on airplane shit?"

"You did and I don't care, don't smoke around her. It's not doing you any favors either."

"It's good to see you Luka, I missed you. Who else gives me such crap any more?"

"Just behave."

"Abby still working?"

"Yeah taking a couple of shifts a week. We work it so we overlap, Rosa's not in daycare that long, and we still get my days off together."

He tells me about Damir and Tatijana and the kids, his painting, living by the sea. We make good time getting home.

"Hey, we're home." I call as we come in. Abby and Maggie emerge from the kitchen. Maggie wearing an apron, Abby wearing a frown until she sees my father, then her face lights up. She disappears in his arms.

"Abby, you're even more beautiful than I remember, motherhood's good to you. Where's my granddaughter?"

"She's still sleeping, She pulls herself away and steps back, uncertainty creeping into her voice. "Ivica this is my mother Maggie Wyczenski, Maggie this is Ivica Kovac, Luka's Dad."

"Lovely to meet you Maggie. Now I know where Abby gets her looks."

"So nice to meet you too, Ivica, I've heard so much about you from Abby. I love your paintings, so talented. You know I'm a bit of an artist myself."

"Tell me . . ." They start walking toward the living room where my father's pictures hang.

"Are they acting a bit too chummy or is it just me?" Abby asks.

"They're throwing themselves into their duty anyway."

From upstairs I hear Rosa cry then . . ."Mama . . . .Tata"

"I'll go." I change her and carry her down the stairs her little arms wrapped around my neck.

"Here she is." Here arms tighten around my neck when she sees the stranger who is her grandfather. I tell her in Croatian that her grandfather has come a long way just for her, and he will make her laugh.

"Rosa, my winter rose, so beautiful." He studies her for a moment. "That's Kovac hair, thick. She's got your eyes Luka but Abby's mouth. And, is that your nose Maggie?" His eyes are soft, kind, gentle his smile big and toothy. He holds up his pocket watch for Rosa to grab, and he laughs and looks at me, his eyes are wet.

"She's beautiful, Luka."

Maggie insists on making dinner while we all visit. Abby looks like she's on edge throughout dinner, but Maggie is fine. Ivica is subdued even polite. The conversation more the type for polite strangers than family, you know, "How was your flight?" "Please pass the peas?" "Cold winter we're having." We get through with a minimum of awkward silences thanks to Rosa who wears more food than she currently eats.

After dinner, it's my turn to put Rosa to bed while Abby cleans up in the kitchen. It's my favorite time of day. I give her a bath. She laughs at the little elephant that squirts water from its trunk, big, belly, baby laughs. I laugh too. Then I get her dressed for bed and show her a picture book. We make animal noises. She does a really good cow for a one year old. I rock her and sing her our song. When she falls asleep, I put her in her bed. And, I watch her, every night, even when it's not my turn. I watch her.

When I'm done I go downstairs and find Abby in the kitchen.

"Hey, where are Ivica and Maggie?"

"I kicked them out."

"Giving you a hard time?"

"No, it's your father he's acting so strangely."

"Well, you know my father."

"No, that's it, he's being nice . . . polite even . . .it's unnerving. Do you think that means he hates my mother?"

"No, I think it means he loves you. I told him to be nice."

"Well tell him to stop it, it's driving me nuts."

"Sorry, trying to help."

"I know. I did it too."

"What?"

"I told Maggie to behave."

"Maybe we all just need to relax."

"Maybe."

We find them outside smoking and laughing.

"What's so funny?" Abby wonders.

"You two. We decided being nice was too much work. We're grandparents not morons," clearly, Ivica's back to himself.

"Actually we came to that conclusion ourselves." I offer.

"Good. Luka . . .I'm a tired old man. Where do I sleep?"

"Oh, give him the guest room I'll take the sofa bed" Maggie chimes in.

"No, Maggie we've got it worked out. Ivica's in our room till you go then we'll switch." I tell her.

"Oh no, I should get a hotel, this is too inconvenient for you."

"No, I can get a hotel." Ivica starts.

"No one's getting a hotel. We're family. We'll make do. Abby and I have decided. No arguments."

They look at each other. "Kids." Ivica grunts. "Good night Maggie, it seems we must follow orders." He kisses her hand and mumbles something in Croatian, which tickles Maggie. I frown.

I take my father upstairs.

"I don't want to kick you out of your bedroom."

"No, this will be more comfortable for you than the roll out, better my back than yours on that mattress."

"Better Abby's back than yours on that mattress."

"Not necessarily"

He does a double take. "Happy?"

"Yes."

"I didn't have to ask but I wanted to hear you say it."

"I know. See you in the morning."

After I shower, I find Tata and Abby in the living room, Maggie's got Rosa in the backyard. He runs his hand over the piano.

"You play?"

"No," I catch Abby's eye. "But I . . . tinker on it." She blushes, Ivica's still looking at the piano.

"Tinker for me now." He says.

"I'm not ready for a public performance." Abby shakes her head at me but she's smiling.

"What's public, I'm your father?" He looks back and forth at us a bit confused.

"How about coffee?" Abby interrupts. I'm still grinning.

My father goes out to play with Rosa while Abby and I get things ready for the party. When we go out to get them for lunch, we find Maggie and Ivica laughing and chummy, a little too chummy. Abby looks at me a worried expression on her face. Rosa is dressed like an Eskimo scooping up what little snow is on the ground and putting it in a bucket. Maggie's sitting on a bench next to Ivica, she gazes up at him from under her bangs, her nose crinkled just a little, laughing and a little too close.

"Mom can you help me with the lunch things . . now" Abby doesn't look pleased.

They disappear. My father watches them go.

"You're a lucky man if Abby holds up that well . . . . .pretty woman."

"Don't even think about it."

"What?'

"I'll have your hide hanging on my wall if you even think of touching Maggie."

"Luka . . . . . what would give you that idea?"

"I don't know, the leer on your face maybe. Abby would freak. Don't do it. More trouble than any of us need . . . . or want . . . .or deserve. And I'll kill you."

"Luka . . . .calm down. Maggie and I . . . we understand each other . . .artists . . . .she's a nice woman when she's not crazy. But don't worry . . . . "

"Sorry."

"No, it's okay, you saw your wife worried . . .you were worried . . .it's okay. Maggie and I we're friends . . .we're grandparents . . . .no more . . .no less. Unless she takes her clothes off at the party than we're . . . .less."

"Tata"

"It's a joke son, just a joke."

First birthday parties aren't really for the baby. The baby couldn't care less. Really it's the parents celebrating surviving it all. That and it's the anniversary, the anniversary of the birth, the anniversary of life, as you know it, being altered . . . . .forever. They say to have a child is to forever have your heart walking around outside of your body . . .they're right. Anyway, we went a little overboard, a few friends from work, a few neighbors, somehow it turned into a house full. Abby's brother couldn't come, couldn't get leave. But, he spent Christmas with us . . .nice guy, good with Rosa, good with Abby . . .nice.

Guests start coming in. Ella and Elizabeth arrive first, Ella's enchanted by Rosa. I think she thinks she's a big doll. Anyhow, she loves the fancy dress Maggie made for Rosa. Ella grabs her by the hand. Rosa's steps are still a little unsteady at times, after all two weeks isn't very much time to practice. They toddle into the family room to begin strewing toys left and right.

Jing-Mei and Carter arrive. Carter tells me to come out and see what he's got for Rosa. I can't believe what he's brought. It's like a Humvee for a one year old or something. It's terrible.

"What? Jeep's are cool."

"You're crazy Carter it's a horrible idea. Jin-Mei?" I look at her, helpless

"I tried to tell him."

It's going back, but I don't say it. Instead I shake my head, smile and walk them into the house. Carter heads over to Abby and Maggie.

"I'm still trying to convince him that a one year old cannot be a flower girl." Jin-Mei says shaking her head.

"Don't worry. Abby put her foot down on that one."

"I think Carter wants to be sure the wedding isn't too . . . .conventional."

"That would explain why he thinks my wife is a good choice for best man."

"Well, I was considering you for matron of honor, but then I thought about you in a black strapless gown and . . . .reconsidered."

"Strapless really doesn't work for me."

"No, I wouldn't think so. Does it bother you?"

"What? Being married to the best man? Naw, she wore pants to our wedding why not yours?"

"That's not what I meant."

"I know."

She nods toward them. "They're good friends. I think there was a time when that would have bothered me, but not now. I guess I'd be a fool to marry him if it did."

"He's lucky to have you."

"Abby didn't do too badly herself. Besides I've got John where I want him."

"Where's that?"

"Here. Watch this." She glances over and sees Carter watching us, she tosses her head back smiles at me and touches my arm. He makes a beeline for us, and I can't help but laugh.

"Don't monopolize our host." He says putting an arm around her. "Come and meet Abby's mother."

They walk off and as they do she turns around and winks at me, which Abby catches on her way back to me.

"What's that about?"

"Collusion."

"Spill."

"Oh no. Jing-Mei and I have to stick together. Survival. You're not jealous?"'

"Do you want me to be?"

"Just . . you know . . . maybe a touch."

"Okay, just a touch. Speaking of touched, where's you Dad?"

"He doesn't believe on arriving on time for parties, thinks it's bad form."

"He's upstairs."

"Doesn't matter . . .he's late to his own parties."

"How's he manage that?"

"Don't ask. You don't want to know."

When he does come down he mingles Ivica style, which means everyone gets greeted and life stories revealed before they even know they're doing it.

Finally, he comes over to me. "So, who's this Carter person?"

"Why?"

"He looks like he has a stick up his ass."

"No, he's alright, comes from money."

"Hmmm rich. . . fiancé's pretty though."

"Yes she is, but he's a good guy"

"He and Abby?" he shakes his hand in the air.

"Why do you ask?"

"Something Maggie said"

"What did Maggie say?"

"That Abby could have married a millionaire."

"Oh"

"I can't see it. What was she doing with him?"

"You'd have to ask her."

"I will."

"Don't do that."

"Why not? Abby and I don't have any secrets."

"You think she's going to discuss her old boyfriends with you."

"Sure. We're like this." He crosses his fingers. "Beside, I'll trade her information."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. It depends what she wants to know."

"About you or me?"

"Whatever it takes."

"You missed your calling."

"What's that?"

"Double agent."

"She's better off."

"She knows." My father laughs and slaps me on the back . . .hard.

When it's time for cake Rosa climbs into Abby's lap. She's a little overwhelmed by all the attention – and all those adults singing off key. She buries her face in Abby. Abby whispers something in her ear, stroking her hair and points at me. She looks up at me. I've got the camera. I almost get a smile out of her. We put a big piece of cake in front of her – her first – to see what she'll do. She sticks her hands in and begins to try to stuff it in her mouth. And, then she decides mommy needs some and starts to shovel it into Abby's mouth. Well, partly into her mouth. Abby's laughing and sucking the icing off those baby fingers much to Rosa's delight

"Smile"

"No – you don't"

"I did."

"Rosa, Tata is hungry too. Share some cake with Tata." Payback.

Rosa fills her fists with cake and holds it out to me expectantly, "Tata"

I give Abby a look of feigned exasperation and head over to get my cake, which I do, nearly a face full of it. Both my girls giggle. Damn, life is good.

So, we do the whole birthday thing, the cake, the singing, the presents and, of course, the time-honored melt down of the birthday child. Finally, the last guest leaves. Abby's slumped on the sofa, Rosa asleep in her lap. Next to her sits my father who picks up her hand and kisses it. Maggie's already upstairs – she has a long bus ride tomorrow.

"I'll take her upstairs. I'm sure you two have evil plans to hatch." I nod at my father who gives me a look of pure innocence.

When I make it back down, I find Abby and Tata dancing to Natalie Cole singing 40's tunes. I lean against the wall and watch.

The song ends and my father holds her face in his hands for a second then kisses her on the forehead and looks over at me. "You're lucky I'm not a young man."

"Mmmm. May I cut in?"

"Only because I'm going to bed. Don't step on her toes."

"No, I'll try not to. Good night Tata."

"Good night." But he doesn't leave he stands in the doorway watching us dance until the song ends, then I hear his footsteps heavy on the stairs.

She looks up at me. "It was a good party."

"It was a great party."

"And my mother met your father, and we survived."

'Yes."

"Is there anything we can't do then?"

"Not that I can think of."

"So, here we are stuck sleeping on the sofa bed, our parents are upstairs. . . . . sort of like when I was young and snuck a boy in."

"Are you suggesting?"

"Furtive sex? Yes, definitely."

We danced a long time that night . . . . . even after the music stopped.

"Mmmm you're good when you're furtive". She whispers it against my neck her breath hot.

"Thank you.'

'Luka, I've been thinking. . . "

"Let me help you with that". I go for the sweet spot behind her ear.

"No, I'm serious."

"Okay, what?" I roll onto my back and get ready . . . .

"I'm thinking maybe . .. maybe. . ..

"Maybe? . .. ."

"I should finish med school. . . . . .it wouldn't be till the Fall." There it is another bomb dropped on a clear, moonless, night. Damn she's good at that. I'm glad she can't see my face. But, maybe that's the point. The long nights, the stress, the schedule, the juggling, the money. …

"You should," what else can I say? I know it's true.

"You're kidding?"

"No. I'm serious."

"You think we could make it work?"

"We have to. You can't deny part of who you are. You're a daughter, a mother, my wife, my lover, my best friend but you're also a doctor Abby. You should be who you are."

"Now, I know why I married you"

"Why?

"Because you see who I am sometimes even before I do. And you?"

I know this is important to her so I take my time. "You . . . .you remind me. . . . . of who I am . . . even when I forget."

"It won't be easy"

"Easier than pretending, than hiding."

"Maybe, but still it's a lot of work and I still want time with Rosa and you . . . "

"No one says you can't stretch it out a bit."

"Still, it's crazy. Why do we never do things the easy way?"

"Insanity?"

"You don't think?"

"What?"

"That our parents are actually the sane ones – and it's us who are nuts?"

"Could be? What's your plan Dr. Kovac?"

"Soft restraints and psychotropics?"

"You're missing something."

"What?"

"Physical exam to rule out organic causes."

"A head to toe?"

"That's what I'm thinking."

"That could take all night."

"Be good practice."

I lose myself in the touch of her hands on my skin, the taste of her mouth, the smell of her hair and the feel of her skin.

So, there it is. Carter and Jin-Mei were married in the Spring. Abby went back to med school in the Fall. It was hard . . okay it was shitty. But we did it. She got most of her rotations at County - thank goodness for on-site child care. We grabbed breaks and lunches with Rosa as much as we could. I begged, borrowed and cheated my way out of night shifts when she was on a bad rotation. But, basically we never saw each other, two boats passing in the night. Residency was better, more predictable anyway. She matched at County so we got to work with each other again. Maggie got engaged to a nice man. My father still lives by the sea, painting and drinking, he comes for a long visit once a year. Things settled in until Christmas Eve night during the second year of Abby's residency. In usual fashion it came out at night, lying in the dark after making love.

"Luka . . . .I'm late . . . ."

But that's another story.


End file.
